Shades of Gray
by TheManInTheHat
Summary: "There is no such thing as innocence, only degrees of guilt." For longer than most can remember, Shibusen has held evil at bay. But with Maka and the gang busy facing their own enemies, who can Death rely on to meet other looming threats? OC-centric fic
1. A Fateful Meeting

A Fateful Meeting

* * *

Medusa sank into her chair, fingers laced together in deep thought. _So, Soul is beginning to feel the effects of the Black Blood. How very interesting..._ The Weapon in question had left just minutes before, rushing off to some party Maka had reminded him of when she dropped by to check on him. A grin spread across the witch's face. _A pleasant surprise indeed._

Feigning a yawn, she rose, adjusting her lab coat and picking up a pair of medical files from her desk. Her shoes clacked hatefully against the Dispensary's tile floor as she crossed to a tall filing cabinet, but she couldn't be rid of them just yet. A barefooted nurse would arouse unneeded suspicion. The filing cabinet rasped open and Medusa slid the first file, Soul's, into its rightful place before glancing at the name on the second. _Roland Frey._

Medusa hummed to herself, fingers dancing over the countless files in search of Frey's spot in the alphabetized mayhem. His file had revealed him to be a healthy boy of sixteen, enrolled at Shibusen as a Meister a month prior. After a month of searching for a Weapon without success, he'd come to seek the advice of a medical professional.

_Medical Professional. _That tickled her. _If only._

He complained of consistent wavelength rejection, a condition not uncommon to new students. Some found their partner on the first day, some didn't. But over the course of a month he'd been to three of the mixers Shibusen held to help new students find partners, and come away empty handed each time.

She hadn't bothered to check, but she was fairly certain that was some kind of record for incompatibility.

He confessed that he doubted he would ever find a Weapon who could match his wavelength. She'd assured him that all he needed to do was keep looking, but he didn't seem satisfied with the answer. She couldn't blame him, but Medusa still found the hints of apathy in his voice distasteful_._

So she'd given him another answer.

Something that would lift his spirits enough to get him out of her hair so she could attend to the pressing matter of Soul and his Black Blood. _A white lie for Black Blood. _A chuckle escaped her lips as she remembered how his eyes seemed to light up at her addendum. It seemed you could wrap any Shibusen student around your little finger with the mere mention of a 'special' wavelength. He hadn't even asked her to specify, seeming content with the vague diagnosis.

She let out a sigh as she slipped Frey's file into its spot, sliding the filing cabinet shut and taking a step back to stretch. _All in a day's work._ Medusa grinned wickedly as she made for the door.

_But the day's not over yet._

* * *

Roland was sitting in a comfortable brown leather armchair, reading a leather bound copy of _Moby Dick_**, **when the grandfather clock in the corner of the room struck six. Sighing heavily, he rose, walking to the tall bookcase against the wall and inserting the book back into its place. Yawning, he staggered from the study into his bathroom, pausing in front of the mirror above the sink to look himself over. He was a bit tall for a sixteen year old, nearly six feet, and lean. He wore a loose olive green T-shirt with a Shinigami mask emblazoned on its chest and a pair of worn out, slightly baggy, blue jeans held up by a plain brown leather belt. He ran a hand through his unkempt mahogany brown hair, which just reached the nape of his neck, in a compulsory (if futile) effort to tame it.

He turned on the faucet, letting the water get hot before cupping the water in his hands and splashing it over his face. With a casual twist of his wrist he switched the faucet off, drying his face off with an drab green hand towel before drawing a pair of metal rimless glasses from his pant pocket and putting them on. A frown tugged at the side of his mouth as he surveyed his reflection. Satisfied nonetheless, he left his bathroom, heading for the front door of his modest apartment. He drew a knee length olive green trench coat off a coat hanger near the door, pulling it on before stooping to put on a pair of hiking boots. Once his boots were laced up, he opened the door and stepped out.

In the hall outside of his apartment, Roland locked the door, slipping the key into his pant pocket before glancing at the clock on the wall at the end of the hallway.

_Six fifteen_.

He walked to the end of the hall, and down a long flight of stairs to the first floor of the six story apartment building. The night was cool, but not uncomfortably so, and he left his trench coat unbuttoned, letting it flap behind him as a breeze caressed his face and chest as he walked through the building's open air courtyard, a garden of sorts, and onto the cobblestone street. He turned his gaze towards the DWMA, looming above the rest of the city with the chuckling crescent moon silhouetting it's imposing towers. Taking a deep breath, he began his trek to the academy, hands buried in his coat pockets while it billowed behind him, head turned down as he walked into the wind.

* * *

Alexa was running late. Breathing heavily, cursing under her breath while her sporty black tennis shoes fought for traction against the cobblestones she ran through the streets leading to the DWMA. _If I can just keep this pace up, I should still make it on time. Thank god the streets are empty so early tonight._

Not five minutes before, she had been comfortably watching television in her motel room on the outskirts of Death City when she had remembered that the Weapon/Meister mixer started at seven. And that was at six forty. She had barely been able to put on her shoes and "Weapon" name tag before dashing out of the door in a mad bid to get to the mixer on time.

_Well, at least I didn't have to waste time doing my hair._ Alexa had recently adopted a much shorter, and admittedly tomboyish, hairstyle, with her scarlet hair cut short enough that it didn't get in her eyes or blow in the wind. And the time she saved with it, both in regards to hygiene and aerodynamics, were worth being called a dike by the old man in the motel room next to hers.

But she wasn't thinking about that now. All she could do was concentrate on making her legs move. _Shit, shit, shit! I need a shortcut…there!_ Alexa spotted an alleyway to her right that appeared to lead in the direction of the academy. She skidded on the cobblestones and she screeched to a halt at the entrance to the alley. Still breathing hard, but now smiling, she started down the alley, running to beat the clock.

* * *

Deep in the twisting alleys of Death City, a witch stood silently. The wind picked up, and she pulled her robe tighter around her body, using her other hand to pull down the brim of her hat. It was a cold night, and she knew it would only get colder. She didn't much mind the cold, other than as a physical annoyance. Coming to Death City had been a risky idea to begin with, and she knew it. But there was a Weapon/Meister mixer tonight, so she figured most of the people who could do her any harm were all gathered in the academy to help the pups find partners.

Infiltrating the city had actually been a painfully simple task. With her soul protect and transformation magic, it had simply been a matter of waiting until nightfall when she'd be hardest to see and flying to an out of the way spot to consider her next move.

But her ruminations were interrupted by the sound of foot steps and heavy breathing. _Someone's found me? Impossible!_ She turned slowly to face the direction of the intruder. She thought she would be safe in a dead end alley, but that was obviously not the case.

Skidding around the corner came a girl with short red hair, bell bottom jeans, and a tight fitting black T-shirt. Upon seeing her the girl froze in place, a look of disbelief plastered across her face.

The witch smiled. Above the girl's heart was a pinned a name tag that read "Weapon".

She chuckled.

"Soul protect off."

* * *

Roland walked with purpose towards the academy, hands still buried in his trench coat's pockets. He looked up to see the academy looming before him, not five minutes away. He stopped, standing to look at the massive complex that dominated the heart of Death City. _I'm just kidding myself. _He shifted his gaze to his feet, nudging a loose stone on the street into the nearby gutter. The memory of his visit to the school nurse, Medusa, was a bitter one.

_A unique soul wave length. _At first he was elated by the diagnosis. But then its irony set in. According to Medusa, he had some kind of hidden potential, but he couldn't find a Weapon to help him unleash it.

Roland let out a shuddering breath. _I'm useless._

"Shit, shit, shit!" The curses snapped Roland back to reality. A girl with short red hair had burst from a nearby alley and, upon seeing him, sprinted towards the lone Meister with frightening speed. Roland caught her by the shoulders, her head snapped up, and their eyes met. He found himself looking into pair of deep blue eyes, but their owner quickly pulled away from him.

They stood, only a few feet away from one another, the girl struggling to catch her breath. After a moment she regained her composure, and pointed at the alley she had just come out of.

"Witch!"

Roland was dumbfounded. "What?"

And then he saw her. A shadowy figure emerged from the alley, seeming to glide across the ground like a glacier. The red haired girl moved beside Roland, facing the witch by his side. The witch wore a robe patterned to resemble a coat of dark purple feathers, with a high collar that obscured her face. Her hat was the same dark purple color of her cloak, its brim narrowed and elongated towards the front in a way that made it look like a beak, while the rest of the hat was swept backwards in a way that again resembled feathers. The combined effect of all this clothing was to make the witch appear to be more of a human sized raven than a person. The witch turned to face the pair, and then she spoke.

"So, the girl has found a boy for me to kill as well? Ah well, I suppose no one wants to die alone." The red haired girl moved into a fighting stance, her right forearm glowing white and changing into the blade of a sword. _A Weapon! _Roland's racing thoughts were interrupted as the witch chanted her mantra.

"Huginn Muninn, Ravens, Raven!" An object began to materialize in the hand she leveled at the two, the energy quickly coalescing into a glowing sphere. "Feather Burst!"

The scarlet headed girl snarled, grinding her heel into the cobblestone as she leveled her blade arm at the witch. "I am Alexa, Demon Sword-"

The energy ball was a blur as it buried itself in the stone between the teens, interrupting Alexa as it exploded and showered the two with dagger-like feathers, knocking them to opposite sides of the street. Struggling to her feet, Alexa roared, charging with her blade held high.

The witch casually raised a hand to catch Alexa's overhead swing, and for a moment they stood, Alexa gaping as the witch held her blade arm at bay with her bare hand. Thinking fast, she quickly stepped back and then lunged with her blade arm in an attempt to skewer the witch's middle. She laughed before knocking Alexa's blade aside and striking her with a powerful backhanded slap, sending her sprawling on the cobblestone street.

"Why did you choose to stand and fight? Was it because you found some one who would die with you? Did you really think that two children would be enough to defeat me, Raena, the Raven Witch?"

Alexa struggled back to her feet, her cheek smarting from the slap. _Why didn't I just keep running? _She shakily assumed her combat stance. _I'm sorry trench coat guy. Sorry for getting you killed. But she's right. I don't want to die alone._ Raena approached, chuckling, and Alexa squeezed her eyes shut. _At least I died fighting_.

The chuckling stopped, annoyance obvious in the witch's voice.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Alexa opened her eyes. Standing between her and Raena was Roland.

* * *

Roland balled his hands into fists. His conscious scoffed at him. _Nice going, at least you won't die like a coward. Idiot._

"You think that you can fight me? If she couldn't beat me, what makes you think you can?" She laughed. "You don't even think you can beat me. Your soul reeks of apathy. And you would stand against a witch? Is this courage or idiocy?"

He was all adrenaline now, his actions only dictated by the logic of violent instinct. He charged the witch head on, a move that prompted the witch to giggle girlishly. She leveled an open palm at him, throwing another energy ball towards him with blinding speed. But he sidestepped to the right at the last possible second, letting the attack fly harmlessly past, and sent a punch towards the witch's stomach. She deftly caught his fist, grinning at him, eyes flashing.

"That was a rhetorical question; courage is idiocy."

She gave his arm a cruel twist, eliciting a cry of pain from the tall boy. With a jerk he pulled his hand free, stepping quickly to the left and sending another punch at the witch's side, aiming for a kidney shot. She turned slightly, easily avoiding the attack before locking his neck in a vice-like grip, lifting him off his feet. She pressed a palm to his chest, grinning wildly as she prepared to finish him. But in a desperate attempt to escape, he delivered a kick to her gut, knocking the wind out of her and forcing her to release him.

Roland coughed, staggering forward as the witch fought for breath, focusing his soul wavelength into his right hand.

Raena had just caught her breath when the punch connected with her stomach. She grinned at the meager attack, hardly strong enough to wind her. Then his wavelength hit. The attack had just enough strength to send her skidding back several feet. She chuckled at the sudden display of strength.

"My my, you don't see that every day." Her chuckles subsided. "But I'm afraid I'll have to kill you now. It's unwise to linger in Death City without Soul Protect activated, and you two are beginning to waste my time."

Alexa gaped at the Meister, as she now knew without a doubt he was one. _No normal human can attack with their soul wavelength directly._

"Hey! Kid! Why didn't you tell me you were a Meister earlier? We'd be a lot better off if you were wielding me instead of fighting on your own!"

He paused, not taking his eyes off of the witch.

"I'm not sure that I can resonate my wavelength with you, and I can't run the chance of wavelength rejection in the middle of this fight."

She walked to his side, sword arm reverting to normal.

"How can you know if we don't try?" He turned his head, locking eyes with her. His were a light brown, like caramel, or creamy coffee, she mused. She offered him her hand. Slowly, he reached for it, holding it tenderly, as if it was something fragile that he didn't want to break. Alexa closed her eyes, body glowing with white light, transforming into her weapon form. "Here goes nothing."

Roland watched speechlessly as Alexa's weapon form took shape in his still outstretched right hand. He tensed his body, as if by habit, waiting for the sting of wavelength rejection to double him over. But Alexa's transformation was complete, and he was still standing. Hesitantly, he examined the first Weapon he could ever wield .

She had taken the form of a claymore, with a steely gray blade accented by a deep scarlet line that ran down its middle from the cross guard to the tip. The hilt was dull gray, with a short cross guard and a long grip wrapped in a silky scarlet fabric. He felt her wavelength resonating steadily with his, and couldn't stop himself from smiling. _Beautiful. _For the second time that night the witch's voice interrupted his thoughts._  
_

"Well, boy, are you going to do something with that thing?"

He turned his gaze back to the witch, his smile disappearing. Roland stared her down with fiery intensity, shifting into combat stance, taking hold of Alexa's hilt with both hands. Raena, sensing that the battle was about to resume, leveled both palms at the Meister, an energy ball glowing in each.

Alexa snarled from within her weapon form. "Damn straight he is! Let's show her what we've got!"

He tightened his grip, brows furrowing. "Right."

Roland feared they didn't have much. He saw that the odds were clearly stacked against them, but there was little he could do but stand his ground. If they ran, the witch would kill them. If they fought, the witch would kill them.

He could almost feel the witch tensing, coiling her muscles to launch another attack, and he knew that when she did there would be little he could do to defend himself. But then he saw a blur of motion from the corner of his eye.

"Witch Hunter!"

* * *

Raena barely avoided the attack, crying out as another swipe forced her further back. She had just regained her balance in time to avoid a third attack, hissing at the newcomer.

"What! Where did you come from?"

Maka Albarn held Soul at the ready, his witch hunter blade humming with energy. With a cry, she slashed at the witch, who deftly dodged the blow.

She swung Soul over her head, forcing the witch to jump back as Soul shattered the cobblestone where she had just been standing. Soul grinned at her from within his Weapon form. "Oh, us? We're just a couple of students wondering what a witch was doing in Death City."

"Well Maka, it appears as if your soul perception is as keen as ever." Maka smiled fiercely as Professor Stein stepped into view from a nearby alley, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He gave her a lazy grin. "And don't think that I didn't bring a little help."

The street behind the witch heaved as Sid erupted from the ground, Nygus in hand.

Raena staggered forwards, now completely surrounded. She looked around, seeing that she was outnumbered, and hissed under her breath.

"Not very sporting of you, ganging up on a lady like this." Her eyes narrowed as they darted from one enemy to the next. "It's a shame I won't get to kill all of you quite yet, as I'm afraid our time together is up."

With that the witch flourished her robe, turning into a raven and promptly taking flight, retreating to the safety of the open sky. Maka relaxed her grip on Soul. The battle was over.

* * *

Roland blinked with disbelief. _I…I made it?_ The blonde girl who had come to his rescue was looking up at the sky, searching it for the fleeing witch. Sid, a teacher Roland recognized from the academy, approached him.

"Are you okay kid?"

Roland nodded silently. With a twinge of disappointment he felt Alexa leaving his hand as she returned to her human form.

"About damn time someone showed up. I was beginning to think that we'd be on our own out here."

Sid dismissed her snide remark with a wave of his hand. "I wouldn't let a witch run around Death City unchecked any day. That's not the kind of man I was."

"Do you think this has something to do with the witch we met in Florence?" The blonde, Maka, was talking to Stein, another teacher from the academy.

Stein shrugged in response.

"Perhaps, but this witch's soul was different than the one in Florence. We don't know enough to draw any connections between the two, other than that one commands a rogue Meister while the other was sneaking around near the DWMA."

He paused to allow a small cloud of smoke to escape his lips. "Even if these are two unrelated events, the ramifications are dire nonetheless."

The professor turned to face the rest of the group, gesturing towards Roland and Alexa. "You two should go and get some rest. It's not every day you fight a witch and live." He looked up at the sky, adjusting the screw that was lodged in the side of his head. "And on that note, if no one requires immediate medical attention, I suggest we go our separate ways."

With that Stein turned and walked back into the alley from which he had arrived. Sid gave a casual wave and retreated into the ground. Roland was still looking at the hole Sid and fled into when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

It was Maka. She gave him a warm smile.

"You guys did pretty well. Maybe I'll see you two around?"

Roland nodded. "Yeah, that'd be nice. Thanks again for bringing in the cavalry."

She laughed.

"Well, see you two later!"

And with that, she was gone, running down the street with her scythe in hand. Rain was beginning to fall lightly.

"Hey, are you okay kid?" It was Alexa. Her blue eyes were clouded with worry.

Roland smiled. He felt like his legs were going to collapse under him.

"I'm fine."

* * *

The shower was becoming a downpour. Alexa gave a little cry, startled by the sudden intensity of the rain. _Am I gonna have to walk all the way back to the motel in this shit? _They stood for a moment in the heavy rain, and Roland took off his trench coat, offering it to her.

She looked at him for a moment before accepting it, draping the olive green coat over her shoulders. "Thanks. I'm Alexa, by the way." He nodded slowly.

"I'm Roland." He turned and began walking down the street. "Come on. We need to get out of this rain."

Alexa hesitated, then ran to catch up. They walked in silence, Alexa trailing a few feet behind him. After a several minutes they arrived at a tall apartment building. They walked across a courtyard with stone benches and flowers Alexa didn't recognize, then started up a flight of stairs that lead from the edge of the courtyard to the inside of the building. She followed silently. They left the stairwell on the fourth floor, and moved down a hallway lined with doors.

At the end of the hallway, up on the wall, was a clock. Seven fifteen. _All that in less then an hour._ He stopped in front of a door with the numbers 4-4 on it. He felt around in his pocket, drawing a key, with which he unlocked the door, opening it and stepping inside.

Roland held the door as Alexa stepped in after him.

The apartment matched what Alexa thought the study of a university professor might look like. A couple of comfortable arm chairs, a sofa, a grandfather clock, and many leather bound books. An entire wall was devoted to a book shelf which held countless volumes. The only thing that seemed out of place was a kitchen counter under a window on the far wall, near which stood a refrigerator. The entire room was dominated by earth tones, dark shades of green and brown.

Roland gestured towards the couch. "Take a seat. I'll get you something hot to drink."

She sat, holding the trench coat close, still cold from their walk in the rain. Her host, however, having had no such protection from the rain, was dripping wet. Seemingly unmoved by this, he walked to the counter, opening a cupboard and drawing forth a tea kettle, setting about making some tea while Alexa let her eyes wander around the room. On the wall opposite the bookshelf was a short hallway, inside of which she could spy three doors.

"Here."

She looked up. Roland was standing there with a cup of tea, holding it out to her. She forced a smile and accepted it. _That was fast._

"Thanks."

* * *

She drank the tea in silence. Roland stood, thinking of something to say. _I won't let this opportunity pass me be._ He cleared his throat, and she looked up at him. He chose his words carefully.

"So… I saw that you were going to the Weapon/Meister mixer."

She looked into her cup of tea, hiding her face.

"Yeah."

_So far so good._

"So… it's safe to assume that you're not already partnered with a Meister?"

She looked back up, puzzled.

"That's right."

"Well, if that's the case, then, I mean, if you didn't mind…" She was leaning forward, waiting for him to finish. He scratched the back of his head. "We could be partners."

Her smile became genuine. "I'd like that."

She saw his eyes brighten. "Really?"

"Really."

* * *

A/N: Bam, first chapter done. I encourage you to leave a review of some sort, but I suppose you can do that at your discretion.


	2. Allies Abroad

**I forgot to post this at the beginning of the first chapter, so here's the disclaimer.**

**Pay attention, because I'm only posting this once:**

**Omni-Disclaimer**

**I don't own anything legally related to anything or anyone other than myself.**

* * *

Allies Abroad

* * *

Snow fell as light as feathers on London's Tower Bridge. Maka pulled her coat tight around her as she looked out over the icy Thames, her partner slouching angrily several feet away. Tsubaki looked back and forth between the two with a worried expression while Black*Star screamed his glory at the mute lights of London. The compassionate Demon Weapon tried in vain to reconcile the embittered partners, but was quickly interrupted by an impatient Black*Star.

"Hey Maka, I can't use Soul Perception, so if you can check it..."

"Sure." She closed her eyes and laced her fingers together in concentration, struggling to banish the thoughts of her intolerable Weapon partner and focus on the task at hand. "Well... are there any bad guys on Shinigami's list around here?"

_No Future_.

Maka's eyes shot open as she spun to face the sudden presence. "He's here!"

The others followed her gaze to the immensely tall and muscular man standing at the far end of the bridge. He wore the ragged striped cloths of a prisoner, complete with a ball and chain firmly clamped to his ankle. Unsmiling, he stared the four students down with unnerving intensity. Maka shivered involuntarily at the tattooed words over his strange left eye.

_No Future._

His voice was gravelly, laced with malicious intent, almost as cold as the frigid air that turned his breath into fine mist.

"Hey yourself."

* * *

Alexa let the hot water run over her shoulders, sighing happily. _Nothing quite like a hot shower to start the morning._ Roland had woken up a good half hour before her, as usual, and had already taken a shower and had begun making breakfast. She enjoyed coming out of her room in the morning to be greeted by the refreshing scents of whatever he was cooking.

She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a knee length black towel to dry off with. Wrapping the towel tightly around her body, making sure she was respectably covered, she stepped out of the bathroom and walked down the short hallway that led to the main room. Poking her head around the corner she saw Roland standing over the stove in his olive green Shinigami T-shirt and blue jeans.

"What's for breakfast?"

He poked at the skillet in front of him with a spatula. "How do omelets sound?"

She smiled. "Sounds great. I'll be right out."

The Weapon retreated back down the hall and into her room, closing the door behind her and placing her towel on the back of the chair that sat in front of her desk. She dressed quickly before leaving her room and walking barefoot to the kitchen where she poured herself a glass of orange juice and stole a peek at Roland's omelets before sitting down. The scarlet headed Demon Sword took a seat at the kitchen table as Roland brought two plates over, each with a generous helping of omelet and a couple slices of toast. Alexa dug in as Roland poured himself a mug of chocolate milk and sat down across from her, sipping it silently as he watched her scarf down her omelet.

She noticed him watching her and looked up at him quizzically, a forkful of omelet headed for her mouth pausing halfway to its destination. "What?"

He put down his mug.

"I was thinking that we should find a mission. It's almost been a week since we fought that witch, but we should really get started on turning you into a Death Scythe."

Alexa grinned at the thought. They hadn't really fought together during the impromptu battle with the strange Raven Witch, and she was eager to show her new Meister what she could do.

"How about we swing by the mission bulletin after class today and take a look at what's available?"

Roland nodded. With the matter settled, they both turned to eating their breakfast in silence, thinking about the mission to come.

* * *

Isabelle looked thoughtfully at the entrance of the decrepit building whose doors hung precariously from their hinges. It had once been used as a great dining hall, but had been long abandoned.

Jackson had his hands in his armpits in a futile attempt to keep warm while Isabelle adjusted her blazer, smirking at the memory of Jackson scoffing at her suggestion to wear something suited to the cold. And now he was regretting it.

The nights were brisk in Normandy, just as she remembered them to be.

"Why exactly are we here again?" Her partner sounded irritated, but he was prone to such foul moods when the weather was uncomfortable. For the most part Isabelle ignored them, but his question was still deserving of an answer.

She started towards the building and Jackson followed close behind, eying the structure suspiciously.

"Since its abandonment, this building has been occupied by travelers who couldn't stay in the town inn. But according to the townsfolk, it has recently become haunted, and those who enter to spend the night are never seen again."

He snorted. "Why is the academy even bothering to send students to investigate some haunted house in France?"

Isabelle heaved a sigh as they stepped inside. She was fairly certain they had this exchange every time they went on a mission.

"Because Lord Death thinks the disappearances might be linked to some one on his list."

The interior of the building appeared to be a single large room. There were a couple of long wooden tables strewn about, left over from the hall's heyday. The ceiling had begun to cave in, and the occasional moonbeam illuminated the room with an eerie light. The floor was littered with little bits of trash, but other than that it seemed the place was uninhabited.

"Well… now what?"

Isabelle walked over to one of the tables, sitting on it and crossing her legs.

"Now, we wait."

* * *

Jackson eyed his partner as they waited in the abandoned dining hall, chucking inwardly. _You look pretty goddamn out of place, you know that Isabelle?_ She wore a black blazer, a white dress shirt, black slacks, and a pair of formal looking black shoes. Her shoes had always fascinated Jackson. They looked classy enough to wear to a stuffy dinner party, but were some how durable enough for her to wear on most of their missions.

His attire was in stark contrast with hers. He was dressed like any teenager might be; a plain white T-shirt, a plaid short sleeve over shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. She wore her blonde hair in a bun, while his rusty brown hair went uncombed.

Jackson grinned, looking up at the shoddy ceiling, shivering a bit. _Well, if the ceiling doesn't fall and kill me, the cold sure will._ Growing impatient, he cast a cursory glance around the room, and upon seeing no one he stood up and stretched.

"Well I think our little stakeout has debunked this ghost story. No one's here, so how about we head back to town and get some shut eye?" He looked at her, but her dull coppery eyes were locked on something over his shoulder. He turned to face the direction she was looking and frowned. "I stand corrected."

Someone was standing in the corner of the room, silhouetted by a shaft of moonlight. _When did he get here?_

Isabelle stood and walked to Jackson's side. "Who are you?"

Jackson sighed. "I think we can do away with formalities at this point Isabelle."

The figure stepped forward. It was a man, with tattered and blood spattered clothes clinging to his almost skeletal frame. His eyes were blood shot and sunken, staring at the pair with laser focus while he fidgeted with his rusty fireman's axe. He grinned, baring sharp and jagged teeth. Jackson couldn't tell from so far away, but he could swear that they were also flecked with blood. The man cackled, then began loping towards them unsteadily, gripping the axe with both hands and laughing maniacally.

"Jackson."

"Got it."

Jackson glowed blue as he changed into weapon form, Isabelle deftly snatching him out of the air. He had taken the shape of a double edged, two handed battle axe. Each blade was a solid half circle, colored deep blue, with an edge than shone like silver. His haft was steely gray, with a section wrapped in blue fabric that served as a grip. Isabelle smirked as the axe-toting maniac approached.

"Mine's bigger than yours."

Jackson face palmed from within his weapon form. "Great Isabelle, a penis joke. Real classy."

* * *

Isabelle caught her attacker's axe just under the head with Jackson's haft before smacking him in the face with the pommel of her axe, using the blow to position herself to swing the axe back towards her opponent. But he ducked the swing, bending backwards at a ninety degree angle and causing his spine to emit a series of sickening pops before straightening and bringing his axe down over her head.

Again, she caught his axe with hers, but this time hit him square in the chest with the pommel of her axe before attacking with an overhand swing. He side stepped, letting the axe crash through the wooden floor where he had just stood before viciously swiping at her. Isabelle managed to raise her axe in time to block the attack, their axes locked together as they each tried to overwhelm the other's defenses.

She grunted as she struggled against her enemy's axe. _He looks like he hasn't eaten in weeks, but he's still so strong. How many innocent souls has he consumed? _He was gaining the upper hand, slowly forcing her back. His pupils were dilated, his eyes blood shot, his mouth beginning to drip with saliva as he thought of the meal to come.

Suddenly, Isabelle stepped back, freeing her axe and causing him to fall forwards. Isabelle swung her axe with blinding speed, cutting him in half at the waist before he could react. The murderer gasped, then disappeared, leaving only his twisted soul floating peacefully in his place.

Isabelle took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through her nose. Jackson changed back into human form, casually eating their unlucky opponent's soul while she adjusted her blazer.

"We're done here Jackson."

He grinned, patting her on the back as he walked towards the door. "Another one down for the count. Now, let's get back to town. It's goddamn cold out here."

Isabelle nodded, following him out.

"We'll leave for Death City in the morning."

* * *

Roland and Alexa were on a train bound for California. According to the mission tag, some miner had struck a gold vein on his claim in the Sierras, and when a mining company had approached him to buy the property he killed them all and ate their souls. _I guess greed can create a monster just as well as fear can. Or is greed simply the fear of having nothing? _Alexa watched the scenery pass by the window as Roland crossed his arms and slouched in his seat, deep in thought.

* * *

Kyla was sitting on a bench looking out over the docks when her Weapon, Sonya, arrived with a bag of fast food. Sonya handed her Meister a double cheeseburger and sat next to her, mumbling angrily.

"I don't get why I had to go and get the food, you're the one who speaks Cantonese. I looked like a total tourist. Some one else in line had to order for me, and you get to sit here and look at the water."

Kyla chuckled as her partner pouted. "The reason you looked like a tourist is because you are a tourist. And the reason you had to go get the food is because I'm the one with Soul Perception. You wouldn't notice this guy until he started killing people in the street."

Sonya huffed in indignation but was quiet all the same. Kyla quickly ate her burger, crumpled up the wrapper, and stood. Sonya looked up at her.

"Is it time?"

Kyla started for the docks, ignoring her question and throwing the burger's wrapper into a nearby trash can. Sonya followed quickly. They walked in silence to the end of one of the piers, where they stood, looking out across the bay at the twinkling lights of Hong Kong. The short pier was lined with small boats, which bumped rhythmically against the dock in time with the lapping waves.

Sonya stole a glance at her enigmatic Meister. She was wearing an orange hoodie and a pair of skinny blue jeans with gray tennis shoes; while Sonya wore a blue hoodie and a short red skirt over her skinny jeans with white tennis shoes. Sonya had shoulder length wavy brown hair while Kyla's hair, though the same length, was straight, and while appearing to be black was in reality a very dark shade of blue.

Kyla turned suddenly. Standing behind them was a tall man, dressed in what appeared to be an old diving suit, complete with a fishbowl shaped helmet, holding a long and brittle looking harpoon in his hands. Sonya noticed her partner was looking the other way, and turned to see what she was looking at. She gave a little squeak when she saw the diver.

"Is that him?"

Kyla nodded slowly, holding her hand out to her partner. "That's him. Let's make this quick Sonya."

Sonya glowed red as she took her weapon form. In size and shape she resembled a hoola-hoop, but a razor sharp blade ran along the entire perimeter of the circle, except for a short portion that was wrapped in purple fabric which served as a grip.

Kyla held her casually, waiting for her enemy to make the first move. The diver leveled his harpoon at her and charged without uttering a word.

Sonya laughed nervously from within her weapon form. "What a nice surprise, normally the guys on Shinigami's list are all about obnoxious noises."

Kyla caught his harpoon with the inside of the hoop, redirecting the thrust so that it passed harmlessly by her. The diver withdrew his harpoon and lunged again, and again, each time having his weapon deflected by Kyla's.

By some cruel stroke of luck, the harpoon grazed her, leaving a small cut in her orange sweatshirt.

Kyla blinked, then her face contorted with rage. "This is my favorite sweater you stupid son of a bitch!"

She did a back flip, deftly catching herself with her hands precariously close to the end of the pier before springing towards him, kicking him square in the chest with both feet. He staggered backwards, regaining his balance only to have her jump at him again and punch him in the chest, sending him even further back. Kyla arched her arm back over her head and threw her hoop at him with blinding speed, the Weapon spinning towards the diver in a blur. He held his harpoon across his body in an attempt to block the attack but the hoop simply cut through its brittle shaft and continued through the diver's body, lodging itself in the dock several feet behind him. He stood for a moment, stunned, and then disappeared, leaving a faintly glowing soul in his wake.

Sonya reverted to her human form, consuming the soul of their fallen opponent before turning to face her partner.

"Jeez… when you said make it quick you weren't kidding."

Kyla was busy examining the hole in her sweatshirt that the diver's harpoon had left behind. She poked her finger through it experimentally, cursing under her breath. Sonya frowned.

"Sorry about your sweatshirt Kyla."

Kyla sighed, waving off her apologies. "Don't be, it was totally my bad." They walked back to the shore, heading towards their hotel. "Let's get out of here. We've still got a thirty hour flight back to the states tomorrow."

* * *

Roland and Alexa were standing on a dirt road, looking up at a crooked sign that read "STAY OUT: PRIVATE PROPERTY". Alexa felt her excitement build as she read the garish block letters, but Roland was busy looking at the clouds passing over the tops of the towering redwoods that surrounded them. _It's beautiful here._

She gave him a nudge with her elbow. "Come on already, let's go get this guy."

He nodded, following Alexa past the sign and down the road. The forest gave way to a barbed wire fence with several more "warning" and "keep out" signs hung on it. Alexa stifled a laugh at one that read "TRESPASSERS WILL BE SMASHED". They followed the road past the fence and found a twisted black SUV near the side of the road.

Alexa chuckled. "I guess he wasn't joking."

A clear mountain stream ran through the center of the compound, and on the side opposite them was a ramshackle cottage. Various pieces of mining equipment were scattered among disorganized supply crates, and holes were scored haphazardly into the ground in several places. Suddenly, the cottage shook.

"WHO DARES TRESPASS HERE?"

The cottages door was thrown of its hinges as a huge man emerged. His entire torso was covered in his coarse gray beard, the wife-beater he wore underneath it barely visible. He wore a pair of grease covered jeans and combat boots, and toted a huge mining pick. Roland stepped forward, mustering his most heroic tone.

"Are you the owner of this claim?"

The miner growled, eyes narrowing. "Damn straight I am. You another corporate lap dog, here to try and buy my land off me?"

Roland held his hand out to Alexa, who promptly took weapon form. The miner blinked.

"No sir. We're here to take your soul."

The miner gave a course laugh, gripping his pick firmly.

"Here to take my soul, huh? Yeah right, more like here to take my gold!" He pointed a grimy finger at the crumpled SUV by the entrance. "They came for my gold to, and you know what happened to them? I smashed their car, killed them, and ate their souls!"

He laughed again, taking hold of his pick with both hands. "And now I'm gonna do the same to you!" He bellowed, charging them at a dead run, swinging the pick wildly.

"THE GOLD IS MINE!"

Roland held Alexa at the ready, taking a few tentative steps towards the approaching behemoth. They met in the stream, weapons locking together with a crash.

Roland knew immediately that the miner outmatched him in physical strength. He just hoped that the miner wasn't so strong that it would make up for his lack of technique. They separated, circling in the ankle deep water before lunging again, weapons clashing, water splashing up around them as they struggled back and forth in the stream.

Despite her size Roland found that Alexa was almost weightless in his hands, an extension of his body as he attacked the miner with a dizzying series of stabs and slashes. The miner wasn't fast enough to block many of the blows, and soon bled from many small cuts. But despite his wounds he showed no signs of weakening, tearing the creek bed asunder with every swing of his pick.

The combat suddenly paused and Roland smiled. He had caught the miner's pick under the head with his sword. With a heave, he pulled the weapon from the miner's hands and sent it sailing away from the fight. The miner's face was all fury, his fist a blur.

"PAWNCH!"

The miner punched Roland in the gut with one of his tree trunk like arms, sending him flying backwards nearly ten feet into the side of a large metal crate. Roland coughed, struggling to sit up, only to see the miner walk right past him.

Alexa cursed. "Come on Roland, this guy's all brawn and no brain. He's gonna give us an opening eventually." Staggering to his feet, he saw the miner nearing his pick.

But the miner paid his former weapon no mind, instead walking to the smashed SUV. With a grunt he lifted the entire car over his head, turning to face the gaping Meister.

"Take this you little prick!"

Roland dove out of the way as the SUV rushed by him and leveled the miner's cottage. The miner roared as he leapt at Roland, who rolled out of the way as the miner's fist shattered the ground where he had just been.

Alexa saw the opening just as Roland drew her back to exploit it. "Take him now!"

Roland slashed at his hamstring, causing him to fall to one knee, and with a cry, he slashed at the miner's midsection. Roland blinked when Alexa simply lodged herself in his thick muscle, and the miner laughed even as blood poured from his wounds.

"Come on you son of a bitch, if you keep hitting me like that your sword's gonna break!"

Roland withdrew his blade, face stony with determination. He reversed his grip on Alexa, raised her over his head, and plunged her into the miner's back. The miner's laughter stopped suddenly. The hulking man shuddered and his arms fell limp to his sides. Roland placed a foot on his shoulder, pulling his sword from the miner's body and kicking him forward into the dirt in one fluid motion. His body lingered for a moment and then vanished, leaving his soul floating peacefully above the ground. Alexa reverted to human form, quickly consuming the miner's soul, as if she was worried he still wasn't quite dead.

Roland took a moment to catch his breath, and Alexa threw her arms up in a little cheer.

"We got our first soul!"

Roland smiled sheepishly, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt. "I guess we did."

She turned to beam at him. "We did pretty good for our first mission huh?"

He nodded in agreement. "But it only gets harder from here."

* * *

Maka fell to her knees, trembling. _It's over, we won._ She'd come close to following the Werewolf into the icy Thames, but Soul and Black*Star had come to her rescue just in time. Her partner knelt by her side currently, carefully examining her burnt hands.

"Looks like I'll need to do the cooking for a while."

She gave him a weak smile. "You'd better make nice dinners for me."

He grinned, exposing his pointed teeth. "Sure thing."

The wounded Scythe Technician loosed a hacking cough into her cupped hands, blinking at the dark liquid that remained on her gloves when she pulled her hands away.

_Black...Blood...?_


	3. Of Knights and Windmills

Of Knights and Windmills

* * *

"Oh come on Roland! Please?"

"No Alexa, I'm trying to do homework." Roland was leaning back precariously in his chair, not looking up from the hefty textbook he held in his lap. It had been a month since their victory over the Miner, and it had been a month full of missions as the two tackled their soul collecting with gusto. They had spent little of it at the Academy, instead traveling directly from one mission location to another. The taxing tactic garnered them a dozen souls, but their time away from the DWMA had left them with a sizable amount of make-up work to do upon their return.

Alexa slammed a fist on the kitchen table, pointing an accusatory finger at her Meister. "Bullshit! You've been reading that same page for the last fifteen minutes!"

He shot the Demon Sword an annoyed look. "Well it's kind of hard to concentrate with you constantly badgering me. Don't you have homework to do?"

"Homework can wait until we're done. A girl's got needs you know." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Consider it an exercise in trust."

Roland heaved a sigh of defeat, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If I say yes, will you leave me be and do your homework?" She gave a quick nod and he dropped the textbook on the table with an unceremonious thud, bringing his chair back to all four legs and steepling his fingers. "All right, but I get to go first."

"Um..." Alexa hadn't been expecting this, but she figured it would be unfair of her not to play along. "How about we take turns?"

"Fine by me." She found herself fidgeting under his gaze as he gently tapped his index fingers together in thought.

"Where are you from?"

"A little town by San Francisco." She answered. "How about you?"

"New Mexico. My parents owned a house and some land up in mesa country. When did you figure out that you were a Weapon?"

She smiled at the memory. "About a year ago. My older sister had just left for the Academy when me and my folks figure out I was a Weapon to, so they made me stick around for another year before sending me off." Roland nodded slowly as Alexa let her eyes wander to the book shelf that dominated a whole wall of the study. "Where did you get all these books?"

"Hmm..." He tilted his head forward slightly, the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window reflecting off his glasses and hiding his eyes from view. "They were a gift from my father." He scratched his head, considering his next question. "Do you have any other family involved with Shibusen?"

"Nope, just my big sister and me." She beamed. "How about you?"

"My parents actually met while they were students at the DWMA." He sunk imperceptibly into his chair. "Right now my mom is a Three-Star Meister working in the Europe Branch."

Alexa let out a low whistle. "Talk about having big shoes to fill. What about your dad?"

There was a moment of silence. Roland frowned, eyes still hidden by the sun's glare. "He left when I was seven."

Alexa grimaced. _Damn it. _

"Shit, Roland I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

He cut her off with a wave. "Don't worry about it." Scooping up the text book on the table he resumed leaning back in his chair as Alexa struggled for words. "Just do your homework. We've still got school tomorrow."

Alexa felt like a total ass. The guilt of inadvertently bringing up the painful memory sat heavily in her gut, but she couldn't think of any way to immediately improve the situation. So she sunk into her seat and plucked her notebook and pencil from the table, listlessly scribbling doodles just to occupy the awkward silence the followed. _Damn it._

* * *

"Damn it Patty!"

Liz's groan was muted by her sister's hysterical laughter and Kid's curses as she doubled over to clutch her stomach. A few strange fish looked up at the distraught Weapon as she tried to focus on the gently churning waters of the Babuto Seashore, seeming to mock her from their sanctuary beneath the waves. She scowled at the fish. _I hate this so very much._

"This is unacceptable Patty!" A smile tugged at the corner of Liz's mouth as Kid reprimanded the younger of the Demon Twin Guns. _About time he talked some sense into her._ "If you're going to ram the ship..." The color drained from Liz's face. _Please, if there is a God, save me._ The Shinigami planted a foot high on the prow of their little row boat. "You have to ram it in the middle!"

Liz clutched desperately at her hat as their boat lurched away from the_ Nidhog_, circling the ship with surprising speed as Patty worked the oars with a fury, making exuberant engine noises to accompany the roar of frothing water. She almost fell out of their dinghy as it broadsided the immense ghost ship.

"Well ladies, aboard we go."

"YAY!"

Knees quaking, Liz stood, clinging to the sides of the tiny boat for dear life as she moved to follow her Meister and younger sister. _I need a new hobby..._

* * *

Roland and Alexa were sitting in class, listening to Stein explain the collinear relationship between butter and the Japanese game show "The Last Banzuke", when Sid opened the door and poked his head in.

"Roland, Isabelle, and Kyla, Lord Death wants to see you and your Weapon partners in the Death Room."

Alexa shot a puzzled look at Roland, who shrugged and stood up. A few rows ahead of them a blonde girl with a bun and a boy with rusty brown hair also stood, while several seats away from them two more girls rose from their seats. They all filed out of the class room and, with Sid nowhere to be found, made their way down the hall towards the Death Room on their own.

One of the girls, who wore an orange pull-over hoodie and sported dark blue shoulder length hair, fell into step beside Roland, giving him a sideways glance before speaking.

"You have any idea why Lord Death wants to see us?"

Roland shrugged. "Not the slightest." She gave a bored sighed. Roland buried his hands in his pant pockets, trench coat rustling as they continued down the hall. "What was your name again?"

"Kyla."

A girl with eyes of glittering teal and wavy brown hair appeared at Kyla's shoulder, speaking quickly to introduce herself.

"I'm Sonya, Kyla's Weapon!"

Roland nodded to her, a little put off by her eagerness. "Nice to meet you two. I'm Roland."

Alexa took the opportunity to chime in. "I'm Alexa, Roland's partner."

The blonde at the front of the procession interrupted them in a severe tone. "Come on, enough chatter. We don't want to keep Lord Death waiting."

Kyla rolled her eyes. The rusty haired boy dropped back to walk beside Roland as the girls pulled ahead, Sonya giving Roland a shy glance over her shoulder before a cool look from Alexa sent her eyes to her feet.

"Hey. The name's Jackson. Don't mind Isabelle, she can be kinda up tight some times." Roland nodded, and Jackson smiled, eager to build a good rapport with his new acquaintance.

"Well shit, it's nice to finally have another guy in the group. Not that I don't like being surrounded by women, but they can be kind of hard to relate to sometimes, you know?" His comment elicited a chuckle from Roland and a reprimand from Isabelle. Jackson gave Roland a playful nudge. "Hey, maybe we'll get to do a mission together. How's that sound?"

Roland smiled.

"That sounds good. But it must be a pretty risky mission is Lord Death wants to send all six of us."

Jackson frowned. "Yeah, you're right. But it's probably nothing we can't handle working together."

"That's such horseshit." Alexa pouted. "I'm still sore from our last mission and he's gonna send us on another one? What are they trying to do, kill us?"

They arrived at the door leading into the Death Room and Isabelle opened it, the rest of the group quietly following her inside. They walked through the path of guillotine gates and soon found themselves standing before the Grim Reaper himself.

Sid was talking to Lord Death when the group arrived, and the two turned to face them.

"Hey hey hey, how's everybody doing?" The Death God's enthusiastic greeting was a bit jarring so early in the morning, but he got the muttered affirmative response he had been fishing for anyway. After all, who could deny Death?

Isabelle spoke for the group.

"We're all here, Lord Death. What did you want to see us about?"

The Shinigami sighed. "Always so serious Isabelle. Well, if you're in such a hurry to find out, I have a mission for all of you." Death waved a comically large hand at his zombie subordinate. "Sid will fill you in on the details."

Sid stepped forward.

"We've had reports of a string of killings in Ireland, and we have reason to believe that they are being perpetrated by an organized group of... well... things that have had the misfortune of being placed high on Shinigami-sama's shit list." Isabelle's hand shot into the air, and Death cocked his head to the side curiously as Sid cleared his throat. "Yes Isabelle?"

"What do you mean by 'things'?"

Sid scratched his head. "Well... what few eyewitness accounts we have only described them as _humanoid_, so we're no entirely sure."

Isabelle crossed her arms over her chest. "So we're probably dealing with monsters, not pre-Kishin?"

Kyla slid her hands into the pockets of her jeans as she addressed the pale Knife Meister. "And these souls gonna count towards our ninety-nine either way?"

Sid nodded. "Yes Kyla, you'll be able to keep any souls you collect during this mission. These monsters, if they are monsters, are now on Shinigami's list, so consider them fair game." He turned to address the rest of the group.

"You're all fairly seasoned at this point, so together you should be fine. But monsters are even more unpredictable than the stuff we normally pit you kids against, so it's important that you all watch each others backs. Am I understood?"

They nodded. Shinigami waved a hand dismissively at Sid.

"Don't let Sid get you down, you guys are gonna do great! Now go get 'em!"

The students filed out, and Sid shook his head.

"I've got a bad feeling about this one, Lord Death. I don't like sending students into dangerous situations. That's not the kind of man I was."

Lord Death laughed.

"Don't worry so much Sid. They'll be fine."

* * *

Three days later, the three Meisters and their Weapons found themselves standing in an open field, looking at a crumbling windmill. Somehow its great wheel had remained mostly intact, but stone had fallen away from the structure here and there while a few wooden beams jutted out from its sides. The whole structure seemed to sag like a wet clay pot.

The night was cool and the sky was clear but a thick mist was beginning to cover the ground around their feet. The woods that surrounded the field and mill looked forbidding, the trees' limbs twisted into unnatural shapes. Isabelle broke the silence.

"This is the place."

The others nodded in ascent. It looked ominous enough. They made their way across the field to the old windmill, and were halfway there when Kyla raised her hand for them to stop.

"They're coming."

Roland's eyes darted to the tree line, seeing nothing through the thickening fog. Alexa's voice was a livid whisper.

"How many do you think there are?"

Kyla looked around, frowning. "At least three dozen. And they're surrounding us."

Isabelle reached out for Jackson.

"Get ready everybody."

Jackson, Alexa, and Sonya took their weapon forms, and the three Meisters stood back to back in the center of the field, eyes scanning the trees for movement. Roland wished desperately that he could feel the souls of their enemies, the suspense was wreaking havoc on his nerves.

And then he saw them. Countless glowing red eyes stared back at the group from across the open field. Then one stepped into clear view.

The creature was at least seven feet tall, with gray skin, but it didn't appear to have fur or to be wearing any clothing. Its head was vaguely canine, though it had no visible mouth, with conical ears that extended diagonally up and away from its head. It had slit like nostrils, which occasionally flared open as it took in the scent of its prey. Disproportionately long arms ended in three fingered claws, with one positioned so that it might act as a thumb. The creature's legs were jointed like those of a dog, and each ended in two toed claws. The creature, though large, seemed to be utterly emaciated, ribs plainly visible as its chest rose and fell with the rhythm of its breathing. Others stepped out of the woods, some walking on all fours using their knuckles in an apelike manner.

The two groups stared each other down for a full thirty seconds. The Meisters were all on edge, waiting for the attack, and this time it was Sonya who broke the silence, voice shaky from within her weapon form.

"What are these things?"

It happened in the blink of an eye. Somewhere a gut wrenching howl sounded and the creatures charged, some running on all fours while others ran on two legs, pumping their arms like Olympic sprinters. They closed the distance with frightening speed, and within seconds they were on the outnumbered Meisters.

Isabelle chopped one in half at the waist. Roland deftly lopped one's arm and head off. Kyla, in a few quick blows, cut one's major arteries in it's inner thighs and armpits before slitting its throat and knocking it away with a kick to the chest before engaging another.

Roland felt a claw graze his shoulder, tearing at his trench coat before he split the monster's face with his sword. Somehow, the creatures were vocalizing, letting out yelps and barks as they joined the fray, and soon the Meisters were completely overtaken by the tide of gray monstrosities.

* * *

Isabelle swung her axe from side to side, hacking with almost mindless fury at the wall of gray limbs that assaulted her. A clawed foot connected with her shoulder, knocking her off balance, but Isabelle recovered in time to chop the monster in half. She used the momentum of the chop to lodge Jackson in another's chest, matching its disembodied roar with one of her own. She kicked it back and decapitated it, letting her axe continue to connect with another one's side.

Her vision took on startling clarity as adrenaline flooded her system. Droplets of crimson monster blood sprayed through the air in high definition as she freed Jackson and took the beast's head with a single swing.

_Die._

"Isabelle, pay attention!"

Moments began to meld together incoherently as Jackson's blade revealed her enemies' steaming anatomy to the cool night air.

_Die!_

"Are you listening? Isabelle!"

Form and technique were of no object, recklessness of no consequence, discipline immaterial in the heat of battle.

_DIE!_

"ISABELLE!"

Jackson's voice wrenched Isabelle from her violent stupor. Her vision focused on the monster in front of her, and with a grunt she punched it as hard as she could, succeeding in making it stagger back a few feet before Jackson started to shout again.

"ISABE-"

"WHAT!"

"About fucking time! You're gonna get yourself killed going at it like this!"

She snorted derisively as she felled a charging monster. "I've got it under control."

"At least let me help."

Isabelle seemed to hesitate for a moment before answering. "Fine. Let's show them what we've got." She closed her eyes, concentrating on matching her partner's wavelength as monsters rapidly closed in around her.

A beast raised its claw to strike just as Isabelle's eyes shot open, her voice crying out in unison with her partner's.

"Soul Resonance!"

She felt her body fill with strength as her wavelength meshed with Jackson's.

"Fimbulvinter!"

Jackson took on an almost halberd like appearance, handle extending and double blades growing until their edges were a full four feet apart. A fine mist began to gather around his now frigid blade as she swung him over her head, cutting a monster in half down the middle. Before the severed halves could fall away from each other the creature's body was eviscerated by several jagged icicles that erupted from its already mortal wound. She roared as she waded into the remaining enemies, swinging Jackson back and forth to reap her bloody harvest.

* * *

Kyla wasn't even holding her weapon any more. She'd given that up after her second kill, when they became to close for her to swing the hoop blade like a sword.

Instead she was inside of the hoop, contorting and gyrating her body to send the hoop spinning around her, cutting enemies who came close to ribbons.

She saw a claw descend at her, and with a slight adjustment to the rhythm of her gyrating body sent the hoop to her outstretched arm, where it severed the claw and tore the creature's throat out. Another approached from her right, and she sent the hoop down her body to her foot as she kicked the beast, the blade lacerating its face and chest. Her breathing was steady as she cut a monster's head off with a casual flick of her wrist, the hoop blade moving around her so quickly that it hummed. She almost smiled. _You can't even touch me. _

She noticed that Isabelle had activated her soul resonance, wading off into the crowd of remaining enemies. Roland was holding his own several feet away, but she could tell he was beginning to falter against so many foes. His trench coat was torn in several places, and he bled from a gash in his shoulder. But despite that it seemed certain that victory was at hand.

Kyla reached out with her soul perception, smirking. _Looks like we've just about wrapped this up._

At that same moment she felt two new souls reveal themselves at the edge of the fray. The Hoop Meister was so shocked by their sudden appearance that she gasped, a monster almost clawing her in her split second of vulnerability. With a curse she cut its arm in half, her until now tranquil heart racing as one terrible word resonated in her head.

_Witch._

She could positively identify one of the souls as a witch of formidable strength. That alone would've been cause for distress, but it was the second soul that made her heart beat fast with unwelcome fear. It was unnatural. Her Soul Perception was painting a terrible and contradictory picture of a foe whose power eclipsed their own. Even the witch's soul was dwarfed by this second presence.

Kyla quickly found herself grappling with the possibility that their mission wouldn't be the success they had first envisioned.

* * *

"They're slaughtering my children like animals..." The witch's knuckles turn white as she clenched her hands in rage at the scene of carnage before her.

"It is of no consequence." Reminded her companion.

She grabbed desperately at him, eyes suddenly brimming with tears. "But-!"

"Enough." His voice was cold, vaguely metallic. "You will fulfill your duty or I will end you." She recoiled, cringing at the threat. The rasp of metal plates was barely audible over the dying sounds of battle as her ominous protector stepped forward, a dark wraith in the thick fog. "Retrieve what you need from the mill and leave the rest. I will occupy the intruders."

* * *

Panting heavily, Roland staggered away from a slain monster.

"Sweet, looks like that was the last one." Quipped Alexa.

"I sure hope so." The gash in his shoulder stung every time he moved his arm, but other than that he seemed to be in one piece. Dragging the back of his hand across his forehead he turned to look for the others.

He found them easily enough. The only problem was that they were not alone. Kyla and Isabelle stood side by side, facing a solitary figure.

"We've got no reason to fight. Just let us leave unmolested and we'll forget we ever saw you." There was only the subtlest hint of fear in Kyla's voice as she addressed the newcomer. _What? _Roland approached, confused.

His jaw went slack. Before them stood a man. At least, Roland thought it was a man, but it was impossible to tell. He, if he was a he, was encased head to toe in bulky ebony armor, a jagged black cape that was thrown around his shoulders flapping listlessly in the wind. Beside him stood an immense sword, blade lodged in the ground with his armored hand resting lazily on its hilt.

The Knight had no intention of responding to the blue haired Hoop Meister. The silence that followed her words seemed to stretch on for eternity, only punctuated by the crunch of wet grass under Roland's boots as he edged towards Kyla.

"Where did he come from?" He whispered.

"Came outta the fog when we were fighting those monsters." She responded. "There's a witch around here to, but she hasn't made an appearance yet."

Roland glanced back at the Knight, who stood at the edge of the forest like some immovable obelisk. "So... what's the plan then?"

"Well, it doesn't look like he's going to attack us, so I figure we can-"

"DIE!" Isabelle's voice shattered the quiet, Jackson's frigid blade leaving a trail of faint mist behind them as they charged.

"Isabelle no! He's too-!" Kyla never finished her warning.

* * *

Isabelle blinked. _How did...?_

Jackson was practically frothing at the mouth within his weapon form.

"That's fucking impossible!"

It didn't make any sense.

But there they were, weapons locked, the Knight holding Jackson at bay with his sword.

He held his massive rectangular blade with only one hand.

_Impossible..._

Without so much as a grunt, the Knight flourished his immense weapon, knocking Jackson aside and sending Isabelle staggering back. The stunned Axe Meister could only gape as the Knight pulled his sword back to strike. _Impossible..._

Kyla was a blur as she darted past_, _hoop whistling through the air. There was a dull metallic clang as the Knight blocked Sonya with an ebony gauntlet_, _forcing the lithe girl to spring back to avoid the blow meant for Isabelle_. _Kyla lunged to launch a dizzying flurry of slashes, snarling as Sonya's blade screeched harmlessly against the Knight's armor. An ebony glove shot out with blinding speed, coiling around the girl's pale neck and tossing her aside.

Once again it was Jackson's voice that snapped her back to reality.

"Don't just stand there Isabelle, let's get him!"

She shook off her doubt, eyes steely. "Right!"

Jackson's blade drew a trail of ice across the grass as Isabelle swung him towards the Knight in a brutal uppercut. Inky cape billowing, the Knight sidestepped the blow, reaching out to grab the Demon Axe's haft even as jagged icicles erupted from the ground around him.

"Flash Freeze!" Veins of ice spread from Jackson's haft to the armored glove that he had wrapped around the Weapon, quickly encasing his entire arm and shoulder in a freezing block and immobilizing it.

They stood for a moment, tangled, Isabelle panting. With the Knight's hand frozen onto her Weapon, there was little she could do to press the offensive. What had at first seemed an opportune attack now left her completely at his mercy.

"Foolish child." There was a resounding crack as the ice binding his arm shattered, and a dull thud as Jackson was thrown out of weapon form and to the ground at Isabelle's feet. Her eyes went wide. _A wavelength attack? _The Knight's expressionless helmet was all the more menacing as he shook off the few shards of ice that still clung to him. An armored hand reached out for the blonde. "I will show you the power of my will."

"Keep your hands off her!" Jackson rose, face a mask of rage, one of his half moon axe blades protruding from his forearm. He roared, smashing the blade into the Knight's chest. The screech of straining metal rang out in the night, but the armored figure seemed oblivious to the Weapon's desperate attack.

"I am unmoved by your loyalty. Begone." He knocked Jackson aside with a thunderous backhand, sending the Weapon tumbling gracelessly across the open field.

Fear's cold fingers ran down Isabelle's spine, making her shiver involuntarily as the Knight loomed over her. She cursed as she fell to her quaking knees, unable to look her killer in the face.

_Will it be quick?_

The sound of boots trampling wet grass_._ She caught a splash of dull green out of the corner of her eye as Roland swept past her, trench coat billowing ominously around him, Alexa's blade glowing as it caught the light of the cackling moon._  
_

_Or will there be pain?_

* * *

With a cry, Roland caught the Knight's sword with his own, the immense blade forcing him to one knee. He coughed as he struggled to hold up his defense, just blocking the blow had been enough to knock the wind out of him.

"Remember the plan!"

With a grunt, he tilted his sword sideways, letting the Knight's blade slide harmlessly into the moist dirt. Roland winced as his knuckles met the cold steel of his cuirass.

Even if their Weapons couldn't pierce his armor, Alexa had reminded him that his soul could.

The Knight stiffened as the boy's soul crashed against him, waiting in silence as Roland's wavelength tried in vain to overwhelm his own. The smile that tugged at his lips was well hidden by his ebony helmet.

"You have not known pain until this moment" His metallic voice rasped.

Roland hadn't thought that someone wearing that much armor could move so fast. An open palm smashed against his solar plexus, knocking him onto his back and grinding him into the earth. The blow alone was enough to make him spit up blood.

The Knight's wavelength was less merciful.

The world around him was drowned out by the all consuming conflagration of pain that radiated from his chest. Every nerve was a rivulet of the purest fire, searing every fiber of his being, scorching his very soul. The ground around him shattered under the onslaught of the Knight's soul, crumbling to dust as his immense wavelength saturated the tall boy's body and sent him into the cold embrace of darkness.

* * *

The Knight stepped back from the crumpled Meister, doing nothing as his scarlet headed Weapon fell to her knees at his side. Isabelle still sat dumbfounded as her partner staggered to his feet, cursing bitterly. Kyla held her hoop at the ready, violet eyes boring into the Knight with violent intensity.

But he paid them no mind. Though the battle had lasted barely thirty seconds, his victory was unquestionable.

A slamming door caught the attention of the students as the Knight's conspirator burst from the wind mill, arms overflowing with yellowed scrolls.

"All right, I got the-" She blinked at the scene before her, then scowled at the Knight. "I thought we weren't going to kill the kids."

The witch had a shock of deep brown hair with a white stripe that ran from her forehead to the nape of her neck. She wore a form fitting black leather jacket, matching leather pants, and knee high black boots. A half-dozen studded belts hung from her waist, several more wound tightly around her arms.

"We're not." The Knight shouldered his immense blade, armor plates hissing against each other as he crossed to the witch, giving the students a wide berth. "Do you have the necessary materials?"

"I grabbed as much as I could carry, but I'll be able to pick up where I left off." She shifted in obvious discomfort as the Knight drew near, reaching into a pouch that hung from his belt and scattering a fine purple powder at their feet before turning to address the teens.

"Consider this a warning. The next time we meet I will not stay my hand."

He waved his hand over the dust at his feet. "Warp Powder!"

With a flash of light and a plume of hazy purple smoke, the two vanished.

* * *

Kyla let out a ragged breath, muscles uncoiling as she slung Sonya over her shoulder. Jackson stumbled to his partner, helping her to her feet.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, taking a moment to level her breathing.

"I'm fine."

The Hoop Meister strode with purpose towards the wind mill as Jackson and Isabelle staggered past, the latter of the two shooting Kyla a confused look.

"Where are you going?"

"We need to know what they left behind." She responded over her shoulder.

Isabelle nodded grimly as Kyla jogged towards the decrepit structure, a feeling of foreboding replacing the paralyzing fear that sat in her gut. But there would be another time to dwell on that.

Right now she had to make sure Roland returned to the Academy alive.

* * *

A/N-And so the great adversary appears.

Whatever could their nefarious plans entail? Will this question be forgotten in an upcoming chapter devoid of monster-face splitting violence as characters are forced to interact with one another in a non-combat environment?

*Strokes his handlebar mustache suggestively, jelled eyebrow cocked*

Below this author's note you will find a button, and inscribed on this button are the words "Review this Chapter".

Upon clicking this button, you will be presented with a blank box, which you are encouraged to fill with your thoughts regarding this story.

And with that, my chickadees, I bid you adieu.

-TheManInTheHat


	4. A Sunny Day in Death City

A Sunny Day in Death City

* * *

Alexa woke early, dressed quickly and quietly left her room. She walked barefooted to the kitchen and, as quietly as she could, began making breakfast. It had been a few days since their last mission, but Roland was still recovering and needed the extra rest.

She sighed. The past days had been upsetting. When Roland went unconscious during their mission in Ireland, Alexa was afraid he wouldn't make it back to the academy. But somehow he had survived the ride back on the private jet Lord Death had sent them when Isabelle called for help. By the time they arrived back in Death City he had regained consciousness, and despite being in great pain had managed to walk unassisted to the Dispensary where Stein examined his wounds. He had been the only one of the group seriously injured; Isabelle returning with a few minor cuts and Jackson with two cracked ribs, while Kyla had miraculously come away from the battle unscathed. Sid had come to the Dispensary to tell them that they were being given the rest of the week off before sending them all home to get some rest after their ordeal.

Alexa heard a door close, turning to look down the hallway where their rooms were but seeing no one. She had finished making their pancakes, so she walked over to investigate.

"Roland?"

She peaked into his room, finding it empty. _Where did he go?_ Worried, she rushed to the end of the hall, pushing open the door to the bathroom.

Roland was standing in front of the sink, examining his reflection. He was shirtless, revealing the stark white bandages that were wound tightly around his lean chest and wounded left shoulder. She averted her eyes, the image of the gruesome burn the bandages hid flashing to her mind.

"Hey." He had turned to face her, hands in his pockets, eyes cloudy.

"I made some breakfast." She gave him a lighthearted smile to hide her discomfort.

"Thanks. Let me put a shirt on and I'll be right there." Roland brushed past her as he headed back towards his room.

She left the bathroom for the kitchen, serving herself a small stack of pancakes and sitting at the table._ It's not my fault. It's not like I could've done anything on my own to protect him. Especially against an enemy like that._ A shiver ran down her spine at the memory of the Knight. Alexa had no delusions of grandeur, but she knew that Roland was by no means a weak Meister. Nor were Isabelle and Kyla. She had no doubt that, working together, they would've been able to at least challenge the witch who had been present.

But the Knight was something beyond strong. He had thrown them aside like limp sacks of flour, besting all three of them in mere seconds. What else could she have expected from an enemy so powerful he could char flesh with only his wavelength?

Roland emerged from his room wearing his signature olive green Shinigami shirt, serving himself a helping of pancakes before sitting across from his partner. They ate in silence.

Alexa didn't bother to ask how he was feeling. It seemed a pointless exercise. Stein had already warned them that he would suffer from some degree of constant pain for at least a month, but likely longer. She stabbed angrily at her pancakes. The fact that she had practically rolled belly up when her Meister was incapacitated while Jackson had actually taken some initiative and attacked the Knight himself, the results of that attack non-withstanding, made the scarlet headed Demon Sword feel rather impotent. Roland could always rely on his wavelength attacks when she wasn't around, but if she wasn't in the hands of her Meister she was about as dangerous a mewling kitten.

When they finished, they washed the dishes side by side. Roland broke the silence.

"So. What do you want to do today?"

Alexa shrugged absentmindedly. With no school her options seemed limitless. She could always rely on the small mountain of make up work she still had from their month long mission frenzy to occupy her, but then again the prospect of spending a sunny day bent over a textbook didn't hold that much appeal. Running a hand through her short scarlet hair, it dawned on her. There, hanging limply by the door, was Roland's badly torn trench coat.

"I think I'll go shopping."

She hid her grin as Roland heaved a sigh and delivered the response she'd expected. "I guess I'll just go to the library and do homework then."

Alexa shot him a saccharine smile as she left for her room, practically skipping. "I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't spend some time outside. It's a beautiful day."

* * *

Kyla was not partial to books. Under normal circumstances Saturday would find Kyla far from the looming towers of the DWMA, probably trying to sneak into one of the black light dance clubs that filled the desert city with their synthesized beats.

But these were not normal circumstances.

Her violet eyes roamed hungrily over the imposing book shelf that loomed before her. Despite the scholarly atmosphere that pervaded the sprawling library, Kyla felt her pulse quicken in anticipation. She was some great jungle cat, and somewhere in this forest of processed wood mulch lay her prey, shivering in its forsaken corner at the thought that it was being hunted.

Hunting books was a more fitting challenge than tending to Shinigami's hit list. Books had no souls and thus leveled the playing field, bringing Kyla onto the same footing as any person who wondered in from the street with the same objective. She could only rely on her tenacity and gut instinct to win the day, and that was just how she liked it.

Could she have saved herself the trouble of looking for a book on an obscure topic by asking for assistance from one of the library's countless staff? Without a doubt. She reasoned that dragging her partner to the library would be all the backup she'd need in the unlikely event that she needed any. But where was the fun in that?

Smirking, she struck out into the winding canyons of musky tomes.

The monsters at the wind mill were the first piece of the puzzle. But it would also be the easiest to place, the library had many volumes devoted to the documenting of the world's countless varieties of monsters.

The second piece was the witch. Shibusen prided itself on cataloging not only the witches it destroyed, but also those who were currently active and embroiled in malicious debauchery. If any DWMA student or Shibusen operative had previously encountered the witch and lived to tell the tale, the incident would be put on record and made available for study. And witches tended to lead long lives, so the odds of finding her among the yellowing reports seemed good.

It was the Knight who posed the greatest challenge. Despite the fact that she had seen his soul in some degree of detail, the Hoop Meister still had only a sparse amount of knowledge to base her search off of. She doubted his distinct physical appearance would get her anywhere. If anything could lead her to the information she wanted, it would be his soul. Kyla knew that Shibusen would probably have prior knowledge of anything with such a powerful and abominable essence, it was a matter of security.

It could only be a matter of time before she got her answers. Because, unlike the unlucky inhabitants of Shinigami's list she normally hunted, these books weren't going anywhere. And for the rest of the day, neither was she.

* * *

Isabelle and Jackson lived in a modest house on the outskirts of Death City. Two stories tall with pleasant adobe walls and a red tile roof, it had been a hesitantly accepted gift from Isabelle's wealthy, if estranged, parents. This sunny Saturday found the house's two inhabitants on its first floor, in the room Isabelle had converted into a small at home gym. The occasional grunt and curse drifted through the open door and into the hall.

"Give it a rest Isabelle. You're gonna pull something."

The punching bag shuddered as Isabelle sent two quick jabs into the stomach of her imaginary opponent.

"Just because Sid gave us the week off doesn't mean we can neglect our training." Another punch. "If we do, anything we learned during the last mission will go to waste."

Jackson rolled his eyes as he held the bag in place to receive his Meister's fists. "I get that. What I don't get is why you think being good in a fist fight is gonna do you any favors the next time we meet the Knight."

He staggered as she forced the bag sideways with an unexpected kick.

"The next time I get disarmed Roland might not be there to help. I have to be prepared for when that time comes."

"If you wanna punch that guy's armor, be my guest. Sonya couldn't get through it, I couldn't get through it, and when Roland's wavelength got through it didn't do shit." The bag heaved with another punch. "We should be working on Fimbulvinter. If anything's getting through that armor it's gonna be a resonance attack."

Isabelle paused, resting her open hands against the gently swaying red bag. For a few moments only her breathing punctuated the silence that filled the training room. "I don't think it makes a difference if he can just force you out of weapon form with his wavelength."

"Don't say that like I thought it was a good idea to freeze us together! You know what your problem is?" He leaned back against the bag, not waiting for an answer. "You're reckless. Whenever you fight you let your emotions take over, and that's when you screw up."

Jackson's observation was of course correct, and Isabelle knew it. No matter how composed she was outside of battle, as soon as the chips were down she was a loose cannon. But she didn't know a better way. Fury and instinct drowned out fear. What more could she ask for?

Silence. Jackson peaked around the punching bag, cocking an eyebrow. His Meister was staring with single minded intensity at the bag, no doubt contemplating a more creative way to inflict pain on the inanimate object. Blood wept freely from her knuckles, the result of the three hours she'd already spent punishing the unfortunate punching bag.

"You need to learn how to control yourself Isabelle." He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her gently to get her attention. "All this anger is going to tear you apart if you don't get a handle on it."

Her eyes refused to meet his, voice a whisper. "I know." She stepped out of his grasp, turning away as her bloody fists uncoiled. "I think that's enough training for today."

The moment of vulnerability was gone. Jackson sighed. "All right."

* * *

Sonya listlessly ran her fingers over the spine of a dusty book, giving a little sigh.

_This is such a drag_. She couldn't believe that Kyla had dragged her to the school library on a Saturday of all days. The list of other things they could be doing wasn't a long one, but any of them seemed better than sitting around the library while her Meister searched for god knows what. The worst part was that Kyla was excluding her from the effort, leaving the Demon Hoop to combat the suffocating boredom by her lonesome.

With a huff she pulled the book from its place on the shelf, storming down the aisle with a scowl. Dozing in one of the library's plush armchairs was no longer a suitable pastime, she needed something, _anything_, to keep herself occupied. Stomping around the corner, she froze.

_Oh shit._

She was back behind the towering bookshelf in an instant, heart hammering against the book clenched to her chest. Holding her breath, she poked her head out from her hiding place. There he was, leaning back in a chair with a book in his lap at one of the countless reading tables scattered around the library. Retreating, she took a moment to level her breathing. _Now what?  
_

"Just go talk to him."

Sonya jumped, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle a squeal of surprise as her Meister appeared at her side.

"T-talk to him? Are you crazy?" Kyla cocked an incredulous eyebrow at the Demon Hoop as she sputtered. "What if his partner is around? She looked like she wanted to rip my head off for saying hi to him!"

"She's not here."

Sonya blinked. "What?"

Kyla shrugged, turning to walk away. "You heard me. She's not here." She shot her Weapon a smirk over her shoulder. "If you're home for dinner tonight, I'm going to be seriously disappointed in you."

Sonya swallowed hard as her Meister disappeared into the winding depths of the library. _Well... what's the worst that could happen?_

As casually as she could Sonya stepped out from behind the bookshelf, book still clasped to her chest. She let her eyes wander to the upper most reaches of the library as her feet carried her ever closer to the table where Roland read. _Just make it look like an accident._

She let herself walk past him, like she was going somewhere else, before feigning a double take.

"Roland?"

Something in her chest fluttered as his caramel brown eyes rose to meet hers.

"Oh, hello Sonya."

_Not exactly enthusiastic, but it's a start._

"What are you doing here on a Saturday?" She questioned, cocking her head to the side and giving him a puzzled look.

A small sigh. "Homework."

"Hey, me to!" She lied, noticing the empty chair across from him. "Is this seat taken?"

He shook his head, eyes returning to his book. She sat, waiting a few moments for the conversation to resume. It didn't.

With a huff she sank into her seat, opening the book she was supposedly using for homework, to her great chagrin finding that it was an old DWMA yearbook.

_Smooth Sonya._

She flipped the pages of the dusty yearbook absentmindedly, stealing furtive glances at Roland as he quietly read, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

An hour passed in this manner. Despite the momentary entertainment provided by a picture of Stein in his youth, soul crushing boredom had set in.

Then Roland noticed what she was reading.

"Hey Sonya." Her eyes snapped up.

"What?"

"Are you reading a yearbook?"

She flushed, fiddling with a corner of the page she was on. "Um...yeah."

He rose, circling the table to stand by her side. Her cheeks reddened as he reached over her shoulder, gently brushing her hand aside so he could turn the page. Sonya didn't pay the book any mind as he flipped the pages, suddenly overwhelmed at his proximity. Making every conscious effort to be as inconspicuous as possible, she tilted her head ever so slightly to rest it against his arm. She gave a small smile when he did not recoil at her touch.

"Here." She watched his index finger skim along a row of portraits, coming to rest on one of a girl with sandy brown hair.

"Who's that?"

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

"That's my mother."

"She's pretty." Sonya noted.

With a chuckle Roland withdrew his hand, taking a moment to crack his back and look at the clock that hung on the wall.

"Well Sonya, it's been great, but I should get going."

She jumped a little as he circled to his chair.

"W-wait!" She shot out of her seat, only to fidget uncomfortably with the hem of her powder blue hoodie when she found she had his undivided attention.

"I was, um... wondering if you wanted to... you know..." He obviously didn't. "Get something to eat...or something..." Her teal eyes sunk to her feet. "With me..."

Silence. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire.

"Sure."

She blinked, looking up at him.

"What?"

"Sure." He gave her a warm smile. "Let's go."

* * *

Sid scratched his head, appraising the weathered scrolls spread on the desk before him. _Intelligence analysis was never my thing. _With a sigh, he delicately ran a blue hand over the surface of one of the scrolls, cringing as it crinkled noisily at his touch. _It's just not the kind of man I was._ His chair creaked in protest as he settled in it, eyes skimming the contents of the scroll at the top of the stack. He pulled a small legal pad from a drawer in his desk, scribbling notes on it with a black ball point pen as his eyes darted back and forth between the scroll and the notepad.

It was the drawings that first caught his attention. A plate glove bearing a lemniscate, a hexagon with a strange stylized eye on it, and an inky human silhouette. Grumbling, the zombie quickly sketched the illustrations on the notepad before moving onto the text that crowded around the pictures. Sid knew little witchspeak, but the few words he could decipher were copied onto the notepad below the drawings, his stomach sinking with each he penned.

_Magic Tool... Eibon... Madness... Asura..._

His pen came to a sudden halt.

"What the hell...?" He blinked, as if confirming that what he saw was really there.

Numbers. Hundreds, maybe thousands of numbers.

Now Sid's misgivings were confirmed. The anxiety that had gnawed at the edges of his mind ever since Kyla had delivered the armful of scrolls to him when she and the others had returned from Ireland was now justified.

_Arithmetic Magic._

"I told him I had a bad feeling about this..."

* * *

"You left it behind...?"

The witch trembled at the venomous tone, the buckles of her countless belts jingling slightly as she shifted from one foot to the other in discomfort.

"W-w-w-well you see, he t-t-told me to take as much as I could carry and leave the rest." She took a shuddering breath. "I w-would have made a second trip to get the rest, but with the Shibusen students around we had to leave in a-"

A pale hand coiled around the witch's throat, lifting her off her feet and slamming her into the cold stone wall. She was left to cough and claw helplessly at the hand at her neck while her assailant hissed at her through clenched teeth.

"You're telling me you abandoned it because of three One-Star student Meisters?" The hand tightened, slowly crushing the witch's windpipe. "Do you understand what you've done? If Shibusen translates those documents they will be free to interfere with our plan!" The witch gasped for air in vain. "I should kill you for this transgression."

"We still need her." A metallic voice reminded.

Silence.

The witch slid down the wall, crumpling into a coughing heap at her assailant's feet as she fought for air.

"Be glad you are more difficult to replace than the documents you lost to Shibusen, Mongoose Witch Lila." A robe rustled in the darkness. "Now begone. You've work to do."

Still gasping, Lila staggered to her feet, mouthing a silent _thank you _to the Knight as she fled the room.

Steel plates rasped against each other as he crossed his arms over his armored chest.

"You've nothing to fear from Shibusen and their ilk. By the time they realize the gravity of their situation it will be too late."

A dark chuckle. "Too many have held similar beliefs and fallen to Death's blade. I will not make the same mistakes as so many of my sisters."

Pale fingers caressed the Knight's ebony cuirass. "The others don't understand. They are slaves to their instincts, sowing destruction haphazardly and without thought. In the end they are all fodder for Death's Weapons. For each of us that falls a Death Scythe is destined to rise and slay more of my sisters. Our kind is steadily losing the struggle against the Shinigami."

The hand recoiled as its owner turned away from the Knight.

"This cannot stand. There must be a reversal or in a millennium's time we will vanish from the earth." Even the Knight's blood ran cold. "Or become chattel, bred and slaughtered to feed Death's war machine. Death will always need new Death Scythes, and so he will always need new witches. I will not be content to terrorize villages in a Third World country while my sisters march towards bondage."

The Knight bowed his helmeted head. "For freedom, my blade is forever yours."

"It's good to know that I have someone I can rely on. Return to your duties Knight."

Dark cape billowing, he turned to leave.

"Very well, Lady Raena."

* * *

_He's gonna think I'm an airhead if I keep smiling like this._

But she couldn't help it. It had taken her a week to screw up the courage to talk to him, and now they were finally out on what might be construed by a casual passerby to be a date. Though she was fairly certain that Roland didn't consider it one, she was happy to have him to herself for awhile anyway.

After leaving the Library, they had wandered aimlessly through the cobblestone streets of Death City looking for a place to eat. Sonya probably could've found them a decent eatery in a fraction of the time it ended up taking them, but letting Roland lead her down the winding paths of stone was just another way to prolong their evening together.

Eventually they found a quaint little restaurant nestled at the foot of the great wall that encircled the city, where they enjoyed steaming Chinese food at a table for two overlooking a vibrant koi pond. The paper lantern that hung over their table bathed them both in its gentle rosy glow as they spoke in hushed tones.

"So where are you from?"

"Um..." She chased a slippery dumpling around her plate with her chopsticks. _How the hell to I use these things?_ "Vancouver Island."

"Near the Strait of Juan de Fuca?"

"It's actually Juan de Fuca Strait." With a muttered curse she impaled the tenacious dumpling, grinning triumphantly for a moment before she saw that Roland was looking at her with a bemused smile. She froze, hoping the dull red light of the paper lantern would disguise her darkening cheeks. "Uh..." _Real smooth Sonya, I'm sure he's really into Canadian chicks who play with their food. _"That's what we call it in Canada."

"I've read that there are a lot of shipwrecks in that area." He said, steepling his fingers.

"Yeah, my grandpa used to tell me about them when I was a little kid."

"Your grandfather was a sailor?"

She shook her head. "Nope, a lighthouse keeper."

Roland nodded appreciatively. "That's quite the profession."

Sonya turned her attention back to her food, slightly flushed from the compliment. _Jeez, why am I blushing? He complimented my grandpa for shit's sake!_

By the time they payed the bill and left, night had fallen. They took their time walking back towards the heart of the city, watching shop keepers and street vendors adorn their carts and storefronts with festive lights and banners in preparation for Shibusen's upcoming anniversary. Stars twinkled behind the cackling crescent moon, but their light was lost among the gaudy pastel glow of paper lanterns that filled the air.

Roland stole a glance at Sonya, who walked close by his side, teal eyes wide with childish awe as she took in the lights of a city preparing for celebration. He had not thought himself a man prone to stomach butterflies, but there was no doubt that he now had them, or that this brown haired girl who only came up to his shoulder was the cause.

They were not wholly unpleasant, but in combination with the ache of his burn they left him feeling slightly nauseous.

_Would it be inappropriate for us to hold hands? _

The Shibusen Girl's Dorm rose before them, and Sonya turned to face Roland with a warm smile.

"Thanks for dinner. I had a good time."

"Me to." He scratched his head. "We should do it again some time."

"Yeah, we should." Her smile widened. Roland was fairly sure that all this girl did was smile and blush. "Soon?"

And he didn't mind one bit.

"Soon."

Neither of them saw a certain scarlet headed Demon Weapon slip around the corner a block away.

* * *

Alexa made sure to slam the door behind her as she stormed into the apartment. She stomped across the study, down the hall, and into her room. The plastic shopping bag she held in her hand trembled, her knuckles white. _That bitch! _With a snarl and a dull thud the shopping bag hit the far wall of her room, falling into a deflated heap on the floor. She stood, fuming, in the center of her room, eyes darting here and there to find another inanimate object to vent her frustrations on.

She had only seen them in passing, but that had been enough. He had been with another Weapon. Alone. And even worse, that other Weapon had been an attractive girl. To say that Alexa was pissed would've been an understatement.

_Aren't I good enough?_

Sure, she wasn't as exotic and nimble as Sonya or as strong as Jackson, but she had her own strengths.

None of which came to mind at the moment.

She heard the door open and close, announcing Roland's arrival.

Her anger began to fizzle as the realization hit her. She wasn't especially fast or powerful, she could barely fight on her own. She didn't even have a resonance technique.

She sized herself up in the full length mirror that hung on her bedroom door. Her looks could turn heads when she walked the halls of the DWMA, but what did appearances matter if she was an impotent Weapon? If her Meister got hurt and started looking at other Weapons?

She grimaced. _No wonder he doesn't pay any attention to me, my hair makes me look like a boy._

The gentle rap of knuckles against her door. "Are you in there Alexa?"

"What do you want?" The response was harsher than she would've liked.

"I just wanted to make sure you were here." A pause.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She lied. "I'm fine."

"All right. Good night Alexa."

Shuffling footsteps and the creak of an opening door. Roland was in his room.

The Demon Sword looked at her reflection for a few more seconds before turning away, shoulders slumping. _Nope. I'm just average._


	5. Ten Cent Pistol

Ten Cent Pistol

* * *

Death City was just beginning to stir as the sun stole its first peak at the urban oasis from its cradle in the east. Rosy light began to march across the surrounding desert, painting the sand a burning gold as the rising sun chased away the last remnants of the night.

It was beyond a shadow of a doubt a beautiful morning, and it was quickly turning into a beautiful day.

But nonetheless this radiant Thursday found Alexa in a foul mood.

The Demon Sword was slouched deep in a comfortable armchair, partaking in something totally alien to her, literature. She had read a whopping fifteen pages of _The Complete Adventures and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes_ which, considering the Victorian language that pervaded every sentence of every page of that book, was some kind of personal achievement for her. Fifteen pages later she had the pleasure of acquainting the hefty tome with the far wall of the apartment.

___This. Sucks. Ass._

Her frustration stemmed from several sources: spending her weekly allowance on a gift she now doubted she would give, being inside reading on a Thursday that she had off from school_ , _and a growing feeling of impotence exacerbated by a week and a half without combat of any kind.

The single greatest contributor was her Meister, or lack thereof. Ever since that fateful night when she'd caught him dropping Sonya off at the Girl's Dorm, Roland and the Demon Hoop had been spending increasing amounts of time together. At first it'd just been "going to lunch with a friend", an occasion that Alexa succeeded in tagging along for. But even her iciest glares had done little to dissuade his suitor. The only change that resulted was that the two no longer included Alexa in their outings, a development that infuriated her to no end.

She saw less and less of him. They would exchange superficial questions of little meaning over breakfast and then he would leave, presumably to be with Sonya, and not return until late in the night. And he always returned smiling, which only added insult to injury.

It wasn't like she could force him to hang out with her. Technically, there was little reason for them to interact at all if they weren't training or doing a mission. The official extent of his obligation to her was to _eventually _make her into a Death Scythe. And it wasn't as like she had to worry about Roland dumping her for another Weapon, they'd already made too much progress towards their goal for that to make any sense.

However, Alexa knew that affection made rational people do irrational things. Not even Roland, her personal standard for rationality and good common sense, could be an exception to that rule.

But at least she could be certain it would be an interesting day. Because today, her sister was in town. And wherever her sister went, trouble soon followed.

* * *

At first, Roland had reservations about the spot. The roof of a six-story apartment building wasn't exactly the first thing that came to mind when he thought "a romantic place to take a girl". But he couldn't think of any other location where they could really be alone. Luckily, the view of the sprawling Nevada desert was worth the grueling climb.

They were laid out on a folding beach chair, she on her side with her head resting on his chest, and he with an arm wound around her shoulders to keep her close. A large blue and white striped umbrella shaded them from the punishing desert sun.

Roland absentmindedly twirled one of Sonya's rich brown locks between his thumb and forefinger. She sighed softly, shifting to snuggle closer to him.

When they first started going out, it had taken barely a stray look to turn her cheeks crimson. He was actually afraid she was going to be physically sick the first time they held hands. She was even worse when Alexa was around, though he couldn't imagine why.

But in that secluded spot, she was completely at ease with him. There was only the faintest hint of red on her cheeks as she looked up to smile at him.

"Thanks for this."

He nodded, entwining the fingers of his free hand with hers. She was soft and warm, but at the same time had an air of fragility about her. It was intoxicating.

The ache of his burn seemed distant.

She yawned, burying her face in his chest. "You wouldn't mind if I took a nap, would you?"

"Not at all." The beach chair was becoming rather cozy. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "In fact, I think I'll join you."

Dozing on top of an apartment building with a beautiful girl in his arms seemed an ideal way to spend the afternoon.

Things were starting to look up for Roland. He'd collected nearly a quarter of the souls Alexa needed to become a Death Scythe, come within a hairsbreadth of death at the hands of an impossibly powerful opponent, and now had what some might call a "girlfriend", though personally he didn't want to label whatever existed between Sonya and him.

For the moment, life was good.

* * *

"Come on Kyla, spill it already!" Jackson's impatience was obvious in the tone of his voice. "You dragged us all the way to this dusty, godforsaken corner of the library to tell us something, so tell us already!"

Kyla hissed a sigh. She'd always found the Demon Axe somewhat irritating, but luckily Isabelle was there to smack him upside the head for her. The Hoop Meister leaned back against a musky bookcase, eyebrow twitching in annoyance.

"I was making sure no one else was in earshot."

He scratched his head sheepishly. "All right all right. But seriously we've been here for like, twenty minutes. Are you gonna tell us or what?"

Even Isabelle looked expectant. Kyla roughly shoved her hands into the pockets of her skinny jeans.

"As I told you earlier, I've been coming here for the last few days trying to figure out what was going on in Ireland."

"And what did you find?" Isabelle asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Nothing."

Jackson's jaw dropped. "So why'd you bring us here then?"

"Would you just shut up and let me finish?" She hissed. Jackson obliged, and she continued. "Doesn't it seem strange that Shibusen wouldn't have any information on the monsters, the witch, or the Knight?"

"You didn't find anything on the monsters? Doesn't the library have, like, several dozen monster encyclopedias?" Jackson said, cocking an eyebrow.

She shook her head. "Nothing. I even had a few of the librarians help, and we couldn't find a thing. Same story with the witch. There was no mention of a witch matching her description in any of the reports on file."

"What if those books were in the level two section?"

Kyla rolled her eyes. "I checked there."

That got Isabelle's attention. "Aren't those books off limits to any one ranked below Three-Stars?"

"Yes."

"Then how-"

"Don't worry about it. That's besides the point."

Isabelle let it drop.

"Have I ever told you how bad ass you are Kyla?" Jackson chuckled. She continued, ignoring him.

"The point is, either this stuff is something Shibusen has never encountered before, or it's under tight wraps. And if it's the latter, we can safely assume it's pretty serious if any information Shibusen has is only available to the higher ups and Death Scythes." Kyla leaned forward, speaking in a whisper. "You guys saw some of those scrolls we brought back. It was all in witchspeak, with drawings and diagrams and all sorts of bad shit. And whatever our 'teachers' get from those scrolls is going to be kept from us until the last possible moment."

Silence. Understanding was beginning to dawn on them.

Isabelle spoke first, the gravity of the situation now obvious. "Who can we trust?"

"Just the six of us. We saw it go down." Answered Jackson, preempting Kyla and receiving a nod of agreement from the blue haired girl.

"We need to be careful. Keep your eyes and ears open, and if your going to go poking your nose in someplace where it shouldn't be tell the rest of us first. We've got to watch each others backs."

Isabelle nodded. "Agreed."

Kyla separated from the book case. "Good. I'll pass the message along to Roland and Alexa. I've got a feeling this is going to get worse before it gets better."

* * *

"So, what do you want to do now?"

"I don't know." Roland shrugged.

They were walking hand in hand down one of Death City's winding cobblestone streets. It was well after noon, and the sun was beginning its descent into the western horizon. They'd left the beach chair and umbrella on top of the apartment building after determining that they'd frequent the spot in the future, but now they had to decide what to do with the rest of the day.

"Are you hungry?"

Sonya shook her head no. But Roland was determined not to part ways with her just yet. He spied the red spires of the DWMA.

"We could go watch the sunset from school."

"Do we really have to go to school to watch the sunset?" She pouted. "There are gonna be so many people around..."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "No one's going to be at the top of the towers, school hasn't ended yet. And besides, the towers have the best view."

"I guess..." She didn't sound convinced. But then again, she'd sounded the same way when he proposed the apartment rooftop. And that turned out pretty well in the end.

Golden blonde hair caught his eye. Curly locks fell down around their owner's shoulders, bobbing gently as the stranger came to a stop before the couple.

"Heya, you wouldn't happen to know where I could find Roland Frey would ya?"

Roland blinked. Her voice was... _bubbly_? She had familiar piercing blue eyes, wore a tight fitting white T-shirt that complimented her bust, as well as flowing bell bottom jeans. Having to look up at a teenage girl was a strange and unsettling sensation for Roland. He and Sonya exchanged a confused look.

"I am Roland Frey."

Her smile widened, revealing the whitest teeth Roland had ever set eyes on.

"What a coincidence! I've been lookin' all over for ya!" She giggled.

He felt Sonya shrink behind him. _This doesn't seem right._

"I'm sorry, but do I know-" The rest of the sentence was lost as the girl's fist connected with his abdomen, forcing the air out of his lungs.

"BANG!" She mimed a gun with her thumb and forefinger, pressing the imaginary barrel against his forehead. "Dead. Gotta stay on your toes dandelion, or someone's gonna put you six feet under."

"Leave him alone!" The blonde caught Sonya's hand at the wrist, her fist trembling in the vice grip.

"I'm sorry dear, but I don't remember punching you. So why don't you just chill your nipples and stay out of my-"

Roland pressed an open palm against her collar bone, eyes steely. "Let her go."

"Get your hands off me pervert!" She was about to slap his hand away when he hit her with his wavelength, making her release Sonya and sending her skidding back several feet.

"So, he's a fighter after all." She cackled. "I'm gonna enjoy this. It's not everyday I get to-"

"That's enough Claire." The blonde, Claire, spun to face the newcomer.

"Oh come on Chris! I wanna see how good this guy is!"

Chris was a tall boy with well bronzed skin who wore black slacks, scuffed black dress shoes, and a white dress shirt with a black suit vest over it. His obsidian hair was slicked back, revealing a pair of intense emerald eyes.

"That's all good and well, but you can't simply attack him in the street. There are protocols that must be observed."

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Well observe them already."

Chris took a step forward, addressing Roland.

"Roland Frey, we challenge you to a duel."

Roland blinked. "What?"

"Do you not speak English or something? We wanna fight you!" Claire's wild grin was unnerving. "Do you accept or what?"

His answer came without a moment's hesitation.

"No."

Claire didn't like that answer one bit.

"What the fuck do you mean, _no_?"

"I'm not going to-" Again he was interrupted by a fist to the stomach. Roland now knew for certain there was no such thing as hitting like a girl.

"How about now?"

"Would you stop that!"

Chris approached, giving Roland a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"See here Roland, there's very little anyone here can do to make her stop punching you. I gather it's part of some bet with her younger sister. All I'm doing is offering you an honorable way to defend yourself."

Roland's eyes narrowed. "A bet with her younger sister?" Chris nodded. Roland's eyes darted to the blonde. "Are you-?"

"That's right dandelion." Only now did Roland recognize the familiar blue eyes she sported. His heart sank. _Oh dear._

"I'm Alexa's big sister. And one year ago, when she told me she was a Weapon, Alexa bet me that once she enrolled and got a Meister she'd be able to beat me and Chris in a duel."

For some reason that didn't surprise him. "How much did she bet you?"

"Twenty dollars."

Roland face palmed. If Claire was anything like her younger sister, which was quickly proving to be the case, there was nothing he could do but play along.

"Fine. Let me call Alexa."

Claire pumped the air with her fist in triumph as Sonya materialized at his shoulder.

"Are you sure about this Roland? What about your burn?" The concern in her voice was obvious.

"It's fine."

"I don't believe you."

She stepped back as he pulled himself to his full height.

"I don't think I've been given much choice in the matter."

The Demon Hoop was obviously unsatisfied with the answer, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout.

"This is stupid Roland. You shouldn't let yourself get pulled into stuff like this."

Chris and Claire had already turned towards the Academy, and Roland started out to follow them with Sonya in tow.

"Tell me about it."

* * *

"You've got some explaining to do."

Alexa scratched her head sheepishly. Roland did not look amused.

"Um... sibling rivalry?"

Her Meister rolled his eyes, heaving a sigh.

"Anything I should know about your sister and her Meister before we start this?"

Alexa stared her sister down from across the terrace. Roland had called her from one of the DWMA's payphones not ten minutes before, telling her that her older sister had come to settle their bet. The Demon Sword had completely forgotten about the proposed contest, and she had to admit the timing was less than ideal. Not only was Roland still recovering from Ireland, she didn't have any money left to pay her sister if they lost.

"Claire is a Demon Gun, and Chris is an excellent marksman. And a Two-Star Meister. We need to get close to them if we're gonna have any chance of beating them. But be careful. Chris may seem like a gentleman, but he'll pistol whip you like a bitch if you give him half a chance."

Roland grimaced. _Great, I may not even have an advantage in melee._ The pairs stood across from each other at the Academy's front entrance, the customary place for student duels. At first the only onlookers had been Stein, who was refereeing the duel, and Sonya, who stood next to the towering professor fiddling nervously with the hem of her hoodie. Then they had been joined by Kyla, Isabelle, and Jackson, who for some reason had been at the school library on their day off. And of course, there was the obligatory crowd of students eager to catch a glimpse of bloodshed between classes.

Stein raised a hand to silence the combatants and their audience. He gave the screw lodged in his head a habitual twist, the resulting clicks piercing the hushed silence.

"Prepare yourselves."

Roland assumed a combat stance as Alexa took her weapon form in his hand. She was slightly heavier than the last time he wielded her, but he attributed it to a lack of practice. Across from them, Claire glowed a deep blue as she took her weapon form in her Meister's thigh holster.

Alexa gave her Meister an apologetic look from within her blade. "Look, Roland, we don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"I don't really think what I want matters at this point, Alexa." The retort was uttered with a painful edge, but Alexa knew it was justifiable under the given circumstances.

Chris stood like a classic gunfighter, feet shoulder length apart, right hand hovering just above his thigh holster while his left hung limply at his side. His face was a mask, revealing nothing. Roland hoped that his poker face was as good, adjusting his glasses as Stein looked back and forth between the two.

"Begin."

No sooner had the word left the teacher's mouth had Chris drawn Claire and fired three shots from the hip. Claire had taken the form of a high caliber, long barreled chrome revolver with what appeared to be an ivory handle. The compressed wavelength bullets that left her muzzle with an almost deafening bark were the same deep blue as the Demon Gun's soul.

Roland threw himself into an evasive roll, the shots burrowing into the stone where he had just stood. He was on his feet in a flash, running serpentine towards Chris. Still shooting from the hip, Chris unleashed a volley of shots that flashed past Roland at blinding speed, leaving a few smoking holes in the cobblestone and sending chips of rocky shrapnel erupting from the ground behind him.

A shot connected with Roland's shoulder, spinning him sideways into an unsteady skid. _Close enough._ Roland dove forward, rolling when he hit the ground and springing towards Chris, a wavelength bullet connecting with Alexa's blade with a jarring clang before Roland landed not five feet away from his foe.

Roland hissed as Chris deftly blocked a slash with Claire's barrel, sparks flying as the Weapons slid past each other. Chris quickly forced Roland back on the defensive with an unrelenting barrage of hip shots and pistol whips, many of which connected to leave new bruises on his already battered torso. The butt of Chris's revolver connected with Roland's jaw, sending him reeling with a split lip. He intercepted the next blow with his sword, locking Alexa's cross guard against Claire's trigger guard.

"Hah! Your Meister bled first!" Claire jeered. "Is he normally this slow?"

"Piss off." Alexa growled. "He got really messed up on our last mission."

Their Meisters separated, circling for a moment before Roland lunged at the Gun Meister, knowing he could not allow him to utilize his advantage in ranged combat. But despite Roland's harrowing attacks, Chris's deadpan expression of boredom remained.

"Too busy healing to fight, huh?" Claire smiled coyly at her sister from within her weapon form. "I can think of one other thing that might be distracting him."

"Shut up Claire." The Demon Sword's voice was practically dripping with venom, but her reaction only encouraged her sister. Claire had found Alexa's button, and she intended to press it.

"She's cute you know. Shit, if I was a guy..."

"Shut up!"

That won Alexa several seconds of silence as Roland and Chris continued their struggle. But over the clash of metal she heard her sister's chuckles, and quickly gave in to her curiosity.

"What the fuck is so funny?"

"Oh, I was just thinking." Claire's chuckles began to subside.

"Thinking what?" Alexa immediately regretted the question.

"I bet she's a screamer."

Alexa gaped as her sister grinned in triumph. Then came the anger. It boiled up from someplace deep within her, rising like bile and filling her mouth with a bitter taste. Somewhere in the back of the Sword's mind, a levee broke, and a threshold was crossed.

A single golden rivulet of electricity arced along the length of her blade, eliciting excited whispers from the crowd and a concerned glance from her Meister.

"Alexa, are you-?" Two more bright arcs of energy silenced him with their hum.

"Shut up and fight."

He pushed Chris's pistol aside and slashed viciously at him, growling as the gunfighter jumped aside and let the blade collide with the ground, blinking as it left a small crater. _Where did that come from?_ He slashed horizontally, forcing Chris to duck and roll under the blade, but when the gunfighter stood Roland caught him in the stomach with a punch, attacking with his soul wavelength and sending Chris skidding back several feet.

Chris took the advantage of distance and loosed a single shot. At such close range there was no time to dodge and the compressed wavelength shell smashed into Roland's chest with terrible force. The swordsman felt his breath leave him, but as he staggered back Alexa pooled her strength with his, keeping him upright long enough for him to regain his balance and press the attack.

The Demon Sword was practically trembling with anger. She was used to her sister's teasing, but her last comment had simply been cruel. Sure, Roland and Sonya were in some kind of relationship, but surely they hadn't done _that_. Roland wasn't that kind of guy. Not after a week.

Was he?

Roland tried to sweep the Gun Meister's feet from under him, holding Alexa with one hand at the very end of her hilt to extend his reach the necessary few inches and forcing Chris to jump back. He raised his sword over his head, lunging and bringing Alexa down on Chris's raised pistol, forcing him to one knee. He pressed Alexa against Claire's barrel, beginning to overwhelm the gun fighter's defense.

Suddenly, a familiar pain overwhelmed all of his senses. He blinked, struggling to breathe as intense, searing sensation radiated from his chest and hands. The electrical sparks that were beginning to decorate Alexa's blade disappeared as his wavelength lost sync with hers. He staggered back, his vision a blur, and Chris took the opportunity to send a powerful kick into his chest. The kick sent him stumbling backwards, falling flat on his back.

Roland fought to level his breathing as Alexa's hilt began to blacken his palm. He knew that pain too well to mistake it for anything else. _Wavelength Rejection._

He hardly had the time, or energy, to roll out of the way of a shower of bullets that peppered the ground where he lay. Somehow Roland struggled to his feet to throw himself at the other boy. He collided with Chris in a confused tangle of blades and limbs. In his pain he came to the realization that the pommel of his sword made as good a weapon as the blade, and it connected with Chris's shoulder with a satisfying thud. He followed the pommel strike with a kidney punch. His soul wavelength fluctuated violently as he projected it into Chris's body, giving him a bloody nose and sending him tumbling violently away across the terrace.

Familiar tendrils of fire set his right arm alight with agony, but it was was a familiar pain. He'd contended with the wavelength's of incompatible Weapons before. The problem was that _his_ Weapon was rejecting his wavelength. The only Weapon he'd been able to wield.

Blood began to trickle from Roland's mouth as he staggered to where Chris lay, coughing as he tried to stand. Roland kicked him in the stomach so hard that Chris rose a few feet off of the ground, only to be smashed back down with a strike on his back from the flat of Alexa's blade. Chris rolled out of the small crater he had created upon returning to the ground.

The burning pain overwhelmed Roland's senses, filling his mind like a thundering avalanche. When Chris rose to one knee and sent two shots into Roland's chest, he didn't even feel them. His burst of berserk, pain fueled strength faltered after the third, fourth, and fifth shots however. He coughed up a little blood and sank to his knees.

They knelt across from each other for a moment before Chris struggled to his feet. He holstered Claire roughly, picked Roland up by the collar, and sent him flying back with a punch. Roland skidded to a stop on his back, breathing heavily as he levered himself to a sitting position. Chris strode up and kicked him in the side, forcing Roland to double over around his foot.

Alexa's scalding wavelength won out, forcing Roland to release her from his grasp. _No. _He couldn't even touch her. Their souls simply refused to cooperate. _No!_ All the progress they'd made was slipping through his fingers. If they couldn't resonate, they'd need to find new partners.

Chris's leg was the nearest thing for him to vent his frustration on, so he grabbed it with both hands and gave it a fierce twist, forcing Chris to the ground as well. Roland crawled over to him, straddling his chest and batting at his face with his fists. Chris raised his legs behind Roland, hooking them under his armpits and forced Roland onto his back, catapulting himself onto Roland's chest.

In a single swift movement he drew Claire, pressed her muzzle against the center of his chest, and fired two shots directly into Roland's scar.

Roland's will to fight immediately left him, and exhaustion rendered him immobile. The silence that followed was broken only by the ragged breathing of the two combatants. Stein stepped forward.

"Chris is the winner."

A murmur rippled through the crowd as it began to disperse. Stein walked to the center of the arena, careful to go around one of the craters that had been left in the stone terrace. Sonya rushed past him, falling to her knees at Roland's side. Chris stood and stepped out of the way, still breathing heavily.

"Roland!"

He tried in vain to prop himself up on his elbows, coughing a little.

"Sonya."

She looked him over, searching for obvious wounds. Alexa stood off to the side in a daze.

"I told you this was a stupid idea." She said, cradling his head in her lap.

Stein approached, examining the scene curiously before he spoke.

"Chris, Claire, you're free to go." Claire resumed human form, still grinning like an idiot as Chris led her away. The professor turned to address the remaining two. "Roland and Alexa, I'd like you to pay the Dispensary a visit before you leave."

He twisted his bolt thoughtfully as he swept past the prostrate Meister.

"We have much to discuss."


	6. Twilight Halls

Twilight Halls

* * *

Roland sat on one of the Dispensary's hospital beds, his wounds being tended to by Stein. His shirt had been removed, revealing the stark white bandages that the Professor applied not a week before. Alexa was slouching angrily in a chair across from her Meister. Their wavelengths were losing sync, and it was obvious to her that a certain Demon Hoop was responsible.

"What were you two thinking, accepting a duel from a Two-Star Meister like Chris so soon after Ireland?" Stein's habitual monotone had an edge of severity.

Alexa grimaced. Stein would not be pleased to hear that the punishment her already battered Meister had suffered during the duel was the result of a childish bet she'd made with her sister.

"Well sir, it's a funny story-"

"It was my decision." Roland interrupted. "I could've refused their challenge, but I figured we needed it. We haven't done any training since we got back from Ireland."

Alexa blinked in surprise. He'd never struck her as a student who would lie to a teacher, especially one who was also one of Shibusen's most powerful Meisters. She sunk further into her seat.

Stein nodded, obviously having received the answer he wanted, or expected.

"Do you know why you two lost Wavelength Resonance in the middle of the battle?" He finished wrapping a bandage around Roland's burnt palm.

They were both silent. Stein adjusted the screw in his head.

"There are several possible explanations. Roland has a history of Wavelength Rejection, but the cause could lie with either one of you." _A history of Wavelength Rejection? _Alexa shot her partner a puzzled look, but he avoided her eyes.

Stein sighed, walking across the room to a medicine cabinet and drawing a small box. He turned to face the students.

"Either way, it's imperative that you remedy the situation."

Alexa sat up in her chair, taking a moment to crack her back.

"How do we do that?"

Stein checked the label on the box, nodding to himself. "Normally I'd prescribe some basic resonance exercises. But considering Roland's past difficulties with Wavelength Rejection I think a more direct approach is appropriate."

Alexa's eyes narrowed.

"And what would that be?"

Satisfied, the Professor placed the box on the bed next to Roland.

"Within every person's soul is a kind of spiritual dimension we call the 'soulscape'. It's a manifestation of their psyche, literally the shape of their soul. Any imbalance in the wavelength would have a metaphysical manifestation in the soulscape." He gestured to the box next to Roland.

"Those candles will help numb the wavelength rejection so that you can resonate with each other, which is the first and most important step to entering the soulscape. Once you're resonating you should have easy access to each other's souls."

"What are we supposed to do then?" The Demon Sword asked.

Stein turned away from them, picking up a clipboard off the nearby desk and quickly scanning over its contents. "Find the problem and rectify it." He drew a ballpoint pen from his pocket, scribbling something onto the clipboard. "That's all, you're both free to go."

Roland pulled his drab green T-shirt over his head, sliding off the hospital bed and grabbing the box of candles. "Thank you Professor."

"Oh, by the way…" The students turned to look at him. "I don't want you two going to the Academy's anniversary celebration tomorrow night. Rebalancing your wavelengths is your top priority. The next time you lose resonance in the middle of combat it may cost you both your lives."

And with that he sent them on their way. When they were gone, he adjusted the screw in his head, sighing heavily as he thought of Sid. The zombie Knife Meister hadn't yet reported back on his findings at Medusa's laboratory, and Stein was beginning to fear the worse.

* * *

Even though it had still been light out when they had arrived back at their apartment, Roland and Alexa had immediately gone to bed, eager to rest up for the ordeal ahead. They slept well into the next day, eating a hearty breakfast at almost noon before opening the box of candles and making their preparations.

Roland and Alexa set up shop in Roland's bedroom, several of the candles Stein had given them scattered about. The room was becoming hazy with their sweet smelling smoke, so Roland cracked a window to prevent them from passing out during their trance.

"So, who's going first?"

"Well, Stein said you had a history of this Wavelength Rejection stuff." It felt strange to acknowledge it. _Why didn't he tell me earlier?_ "So maybe we should start with you."

He nodded, sitting cross legged on his bed. "All right."

Alexa crossed to him, taking her weapon form in his outstretched hands. He rested her in his lap, laying his hands on her blade. They sat this way for several minutes before the room around them began to darken.

"It's starting." Roland observed.

"Yeah." Alexa was nervous. They'd never attempted anything like this before. Actually entering someone's soul seemed an uncomfortably intimate thing to do, almost inappropriate. Their souls had come in close contact before, they were familiar to each others touch, but that came with being a Weapon and Meister. To be fully immersed into the essence of someone's being, however, couldn't be taken so lightly.

"Alexa?" The candles were pinpricks of gentle orange light against a blanket of darkness.

"Hm?" Now even the candles disappeared. Roland's voice seemed distant.

"Be careful in there."

* * *

The scarlet headed Demon Sword stood alone in a narrow hallway. To her right and left plain wooden doors lined the walls, stretching off into the horizon.

_Am I in his soul?_

She thought it would be different somehow, a reflection of Roland as she knew him. But this hall seemed too stark and ominous to be a part of him.

_Then again…what do I know?_

"Well…" She began, speaking to no one in particular. "I'm here, so I might as well look around."

Alexa started down the hall, walking at a quick pace to reach wherever the hall met its terminus. After several minutes of walking with she adopted a light jog, the silence that seemed to strangle the atmosphere punctuated only by her breaths and footfalls.

She broke into a run as doors continued to slip by at regular intervals, but there was no end in sight. _What the hell? _She skidded to a stop, panting as she looked around. The scenery hadn't changed. The hallway still extended into a nondescript murk, and doors still stood on her right and left. Only then did the golden letters inlaid on the face of the doors catch her attention.

"A date?" She muttered, stepping up to one of the doors. The door she had chosen was dated for the previous day. "Hmm…" The doorknob felt cool against the palm of her hand.

_Here goes nothing._

The door opened to impenetrable blackness. After hesitating for a moment Alexa started into it, letting the strange ink envelop her. But after an almost imperceptible moment of utter blindness Alexa found herself blinking against punishing sunlight.

"What?" She muttered, shielding her eyes with her hand. It took her a moment to realize she was standing on a gravelly rooftop, with a stunning vista of gleaming ruby roofs and a sun baked desert stretching into the horizon.

Her pulse quickened. _Oh shit._ The reason for the city's familiarity became apparent. She distinctly recognized Death City's imposing ivory wall that stood sentinel against the desert's marching sands. _How is this possible? I was just in Roland's soul, but now I'm-_

"Thanks for this." A sickeningly familiar voice muttered.

Alexa spun, already grinding her teeth in anger. _What is she doing here?_

Several feet behind her, on a folding beach chair under a blue umbrella was Sonya. The Demon Sword prepared to spit verbal acid at the other Weapon only to freeze when she noticed that Sonya was not alone. Lying next to her, with an arm thrown about her shoulders, was Roland. Even worse, they were _cuddling. _

Alexa's cheeks reddened. What were they doing in his Soulscape in the first place? Perhaps this was one of his fantasies manifested in his psych. But then she remembered the date on the door.

"This is… a memory?"

She did remember Roland and Sonya going out on that particular day. But perhaps it was just a coincidence.

There was only one way to be sure.

Alexa turned, finding the same door she had entered through standing freely in the middle of the roof. It opened effortlessly, and after a split second of murk she found herself back in the hallway. A few minutes of walking later, Alexa found the door she was looking for.

A blast of cool air greeted her as she stepped across the divide, and before her stood the elegant face of the Shibusen Girl's Dorm. As she expected, Sonya and Roland were just in front of the door exchanging their goodbyes, but they weren't the ones she was looking for.

There, peaking around the corner, was a familiar head of blood red hair and blue eyes. Alexa shivered involuntarily. It was a strange thing indeed, to see one's reflection outside of a mirror. The look of confusion and hurt on her past self's face was all the proof she needed.

The solitude of the twilight hall was a welcome respite from the scene. But even in the vacuum of labeled doors and dim lamps, anger bubbled up within the Demon Sword.

With three purposeful strides she moved to the next door down the line, which was dated for the day after Roland and Sonya's first meeting. She glared hatefully at the dark maw that opened before her, mocking her as it hid the past behind its murky veil.

_I deserve to know._

* * *

Lila was not, by any means, fond of the sanctum. The pale blue orbs of countless human souls gave the room an eerie glow, and when added to the dull red that drifted up from the magic circles that adhered to the stone around the central altar the entire chamber had the atmosphere of the inside of some great pulsing organ.

She hated the cold even more, but there was little to be done about that. The temperature had to remain constant until the room's occupant stabilized.

"How long Lila?" The Mongoose witch flinched at the voice of her master.

"A few more days. Once the neural net binds with the chassis, it should be able to hold itself together under its own power."

"Will it be able to use the tools as intended?"

Lila visibly shrank. Raena's voice took a lethal edge.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Well, here's the thing…" Lila took a deep breath, preparing for the technical explanation the situation demanded.

"While it's self-repair algorithms are incredibly efficient, it won't be able to keep up with the inflow of power if we bind it to the Eye as planned. We need a spell that can act as a pressure valve, only allowing a certain amount of the Eye's power through so that it doesn't tear the construct apart."

Raena nodded slowly as Lila continued.

"And I can't write any programs that would let it resonate its wavelength. Luckily…" Lila held up a finger to stall Raena's indictments. "It can learn. So I figure if we give it a Weapon to resonate with, it'll figure out how. That way it can use the Omni-Resonator to its full potential."

"Well well Lila…" Raena chuckled. "You've at least presented solutions to your problems." She twined her fingers together. "It's decided then. I will create the necessary magic to safely bond the Eye with the construct."

The rasp of metal plates announced the presence of the Knight.

"We're ready Lady Raena."

A twisted grin spread across the Raven witch's face.

"Do not fail me. These Magic Tools are vital to our success." She chuckled.

"Now go."

* * *

Alexa lay comfortably on warm grass, watching strange and stylized clouds drift across the blue sky. She casually levered herself into a sitting position as she silently took in her surroundings, a clouded look on her face. .

The Demon Sword had spent her childhood with her back to the Sierra's and her face to the Pacific. She knew vastness in only the fog shrouded horizon of the sea. But here the plains stretched without interruption into the east, making plain the curvature of the earth. Not a single tree or building punctuated the unmoving blanket of ruddy green. To the west stood an obstinate armada of mesas and buttes, rising out of the featureless scrubland in obstinate defiance of the surrounding flats.

_So this is what New Mexico looks like._

At the foot of the hill she was sitting on, next to a clear stream, crouched a man and a small boy. She had been watching them marvel at the wonders the tiny vein of liquid held for what felt like an hour.

It was not especially entertaining or insightful, but it was a tranquil enough memory for Alexa to take refuge in.

Scene after scene of warm touches, shy looks, and sweet muttered nothings seemed to plague her mind like a creeping mold. Part of her regretted looking. In hindsight it seemed only a spiteful act of self-deprecation. But she couldn't go on just imagining what really existed between them, she had to know for certain.

"Hey dad, what's this?" It amazed Alexa that the boy's voice could carry so far. But here in the plains, where at times the only sound was the wind brushing against the grass, his soft words had abnormal strength.

"An arrowhead." Answered the man at his side.

"Oh…" Muttered the boy, holding the jagged point of obsidian up so that it glinted in the sun.

"Be careful Roland, it's sharp." Cautioned his father.

Alexa felt her bitterness abate at the tender scene. It seemed that he hadn't changed much over the ten years that had passed since this peaceful afternoon on the plains.

But something had changed, and Alexa knew just what that thing was.

She stood, turning to the door that stood a few feet behind her. Quickly crossing the threshold of darkness into the twilight corridor, she started down the hall. She didn't have to search for very long.

The door she came to a stop in front of was bound in nearly a dozen strips of bright yellow caution tape, completely obscuring the date underneath. More peculiar still, this door had only a jagged hole where the door knob should have been.

The Demon Sword paused. This room was sealed off for a reason, as painful memories often are.

Perhaps viewing his memories without his consent or knowledge was a betrayal of his trust, or a violation of his privacy.

But after all, she reasoned, they were partners. Weren't they supposed to know each other, to know their grievances and shortcomings as well as their strengths?

The door withstood the first kick. With the second it swung wide open, the caution tape torn at the edges where it was ripped from the door frame.

After a moment of darkness Alexa found herself on a beaten dirt road. The sky was painted a brilliant orange as the sun descended into the western horizon, and two figures stood as shadowy silhouettes against the fiery orb.

"But _why_ do you have to leave?" Alexa felt her own chest tighten at the choked words of a nine year old Roland. _I shouldn't be here._

"Roland… sometimes there are things so big that they're more important than…than…" His father struggled visibly for words, blinking away the tears that threatened. It seemed almost comical that this man of lean muscle and imposing stature, complete with denim jacket, worn jeans and scuffed work boots could be brought to the verge of tears by a boy barely half his size.

He squatted, gently taking hold of Roland's shoulders.

"Sometimes there are things so important that you just can't ignore them. Because if you did, then you'd be giving up what makes you, you. Do you understand?"

Roland sniffled.

"No."

Alexa's pulse quickened. She wanted to turn away, but the scene had her transfixed. Shameful curiosity made her look on. _I shouldn't be here._

"Roland…" His father sighed, cupping the boy's chin. "People will always try to make you accept their truth. About what right and wrong are, about what justice is, what love is. But you need to find your own truth."

He rose, playfully mussing Roland's hair.

"Because that's the only thing worth fighting for."

With that, he turned his back to a sniffling Roland, and started off into the setting sun.

Alexa's breath caught in her throat as Roland fell to his knees, shoulders shuddering with strangled sobs. She desperately wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she could only be an observer. _I shouldn't be here._

_**You shouldn't be here!**_

The Demon Sword cried out as she was suddenly lifted off her feet by some invisible force and thrown through the still open door and back into the hall. She came to a skidding stop as the door slammed shut and countless new ribbons of caution tape wound around it. Alexa shot to her feet looking right and left for her attacker as a formidable padlock appeared on the resealed door.

_**Get out!**_

The buzz of static filled the air as inky liquid seeped into the hall from under every door. Alexa gritted her teeth while her forearm transformed into a sword blade, the black substance creeping past her ankles.

_**Get out-**_

Alexa blanched as a wall of frothing murk rushed down the hall to meet her.

_**Now!**_

Darkness.

* * *

Alexa hit the far wall of Roland's room with a thud and a cry, her entire body smarting from the wavelength rejection. She was back on her feet in an instant, pointing an accusatory finger at her Meister.

"The hell was that?"

Roland rose like some kind of angry wraith, fists clenched and face set in a scowl.

She had to admit, anger looked good on him.

"I kicked you out." He struggled, and failed, to keep his voice level. "What did you think you were doing in there?"

"Looking for the reason why you couldn't resonate with me. And it was going pretty well until-"

"In my memories of Sonya?" He interrupted. "In my memories of my dad?" She crossed her arms and turned her nose up at him.

"It seemed like a logical place to look. I figured since you've been spending so much time with a different Weapon-"

"So you're blaming this all on Sonya?"

"Would you stop interrupting me?" She snarled. "And so what if I am? It makes sense whether you like it or not."

His eyes flashed dangerously behind his glasses.

"You had no right to look."

She took a couple of angry steps towards him, fists clenched at her sides, a week of pent up frustration ensuring that their upstairs neighbors would here her every word.

"We're supposed to be partners Roland! If it affects your ability to work with me, then damn straight I have a right to look!" He snorted, beginning to pace as Alexa continued her indignant verbal assault. "How are we supposed to make any progress when you keep putting quality time with your squeeze ahead of training? How can you be so goddamn selfish!"

He spun to face her.

"That seems pretty hypocritical coming from the person who helped themselves to my memories!"

The Demon Sword met her Meister's furious glare with one of her own, and the two entered into a livid staring contest that threatened to devolve into a full blown exchange of blows.

"Sometimes, Alexa, I sincerely wonder whether you're capable of acting like an adult," Roland began in a low tone, "Or if you always act like a bratty little girl."

She blinked, stunned.

"You…"

Her blade arm was a blur as she lunged.

"Bastard!"

He caught her arm at the elbow before smashing an open palm into her stomach. The wavelength attack, restrained as it was, sent her staggering through the open door into the hall.

Roland approached the threshold, the glare from the hall light reflecting in his glasses and hiding his eyes.

"Good night Alexa."

The door slammed with an ominous air of finality. She stomped across the hall, blinking back brimming tears of frustration as she muttered angrily under her breath.

"Asshole."

* * *

A/N: So, first off, sorry for taking so long to update. A combination of writer's block, tech week for my play, the performance of my play, the SAT Subject Tests, the AP exams, upcoming finals and One Act festival have kind of been dominating my time.

Secondly, I admit it was a kind of derp way to end the chapter. Hell, the whole chapter may very well have been a little derp. But maybe not. Writer's block, whatever.

Thirdly, I'd really appreciate some reviews.

That is all shrews.


	7. Come to Blows

Come to Blows

* * *

Little of the previous night's tension had faded by the time Roland and Alexa awoke the next morning. The doors of their respective rooms opened in unison, like the drawbridges of two opposing castles mustering their knights for battle. Roland emerged, glasses skewed and hair even messier than usual, the result of a night of less than sound sleep. Alexa greeted him with a scowl and puffy red eyes, a two size too large black shirt slipping off one shoulder.

"Alexa."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Roland." The Meister wouldn't allow himself to flinch at her venomous tone. The situation was quickly devolving into a war of emotional attrition, one that Roland intended to win.

She stomped out into the kitchen and Roland followed, leaning against the counter as she poured herself a glass of orange juice. After a dirty look, she sat heavily at the table, angrily gulping the juice down as Roland roughly shoved his hands into his pockets.

"You could've really hurt me you know." He said, almost nonchalantly, as if the fact that his partner had tried to take his head off wasn't cause for any great concern.

The last of the orange juice disappeared down Alexa's throat as she lowered the glass.

"Yeah, I could've. You probably could've done the same with your wavelength, considering that our soul's a pretty much incompatible."

"Probably." He agreed, shrugging slightly.

She rose with a huff, taking her glass to the sink to wash it out. Roland walked to her side, but she avoided his eyes with a frown, putting great effort into making sure the glass was absolutely spotless.

He raised an eyebrow as he watched her run the glass under the faucet.

"How's that glass doing? Clean yet?"

She gave a sarcastic laugh, turning off the faucet and toweling the glass off. She placed it next to the sink, giving him a false smile only to find that he was looking with concern out the kitchen window. Only then did she notice the sounds of sirens drifting up from the street. He blinked in surprise, and then spun on his heel, making for the door. Alexa looked at him, confused.

"What is it?"

He pulled his boots on.

"Get your shoes on, we need to go and see if we can help."

"Help with what?" She frowned, walking over to the window.

She gaped when she looked out the window to see dark pillars of smoke rising from blasted buildings across Death City.

"Oh...shit."

She ran to get her shoes and followed Roland out of the apartment, rushing to catch up to him as he charged down the stairs to the ground floor. _What happened last night?_

The pair burst onto the street, finding what would have been a peaceful scene save for the smoke stained sky and the distant chortle of countless sirens. Roland swung his head right and left, face taught with smoldering intensity as he searched for someone in need of aid.

Alexa tugged at his hand.

"We need to go to the school, they'll know what's going on."

Roland nodded in agreement and they started towards the crimson tipped towers of the DWMA, and it was not long before they spotted two battered warriors from the night's battle.

Maka and Soul were sitting on a bench near a gaping hole in the cobblestone street, reclining amongst piles of rubble. Maka smiled weakly when she saw Roland approach.

"What happened?" He asked, stepping over a handful of shattered bricks.

Maka's smile disappeared, and she averted her gaze to the hole in the street.

"She won Roland. We couldn't stop her." She said bitterly.

"Couldn't stop who?" Alexa said, looking between them in confusion.

Maka's face darkened, she shook with anger.

"Medusa."

Alexa 's breath caught in her throat, Roland ran a distraught hand through his messy brown hair.

"What do you mean? Medusa is the school nurse, how could she be responsible for this?"

"She was a witch, only posing as our school nurse to get close to the Kishin that Lord Death sealed away beneath the DWMA." Soul growled.

Roland's brows furrowed.

"A Kishin? Beneath the academy? And Medusa released it?"

Soul nodded grimly. Maka perked up, looking at Roland.

"Oh, that reminds me. Sid was looking for you two, he said for you to meet him at the Dispensary as soon as you could."

Roland nodded, beckoning to Alexa as he started off towards the academy.

"Thanks Maka."

Maka watched the pair run off down the street, and looked at her feet, still trembling with anger. Soul threw his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to him. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. _I'll kill her for this._

* * *

Roland and Alexa burst into the Dispensary, breathing hard. Sid sat, clad in his battered battle regalia, on a hospital bed. Isabelle, Kyla, and Chris were also present with their Weapons.

Sid nodded to Roland as he entered, and waited a moment for them to catch their breath before speaking.

"As you all know, the release of the Kishin Asura by Medusa, our former school nurse, will have catastrophic consequences for not only the academy, but the world itself if the situation is not soon rectified. But..." He paused.

"Other developments dictate that we not devote all of our resources to finding and destroying the existing Kishin."

Roland saw Isabelle tense out of the corner of his eye.

"What could possibly be more important than killing Asura?" The Axe Meister demanded.

Sid sighed grimly.

"We've begun to analyze those documents that you recovered in Ireland, and the implications are grave."

There was a moment of stunned silence before Sid continued.

"According to those documents a witch named Raena, who some of you are familiar with, aims to create a powerful construct. We're not sure of the exact nature of this construct, but we gleaned enough from the scrolls to determine that this development warrants preemptive action on the part of Shibusen."

Roland felt Sonya sidle up to his side, clutching his arm for comfort. Alexa fumed silently, crossing her arms over her chest and taking a deliberate sideways step away from her Meister.

"The schematics included in the research call for two very powerful Magic Tools to be incorporated into the construct, the Eye of Vengeance and the Omni-Resonator. So naturally keeping these tools out of Raena's hands is our top priority."

Isabelle cleared her throat.

"So what do you want us to do Sid?"

He took a breath before answering.

"You'll be split into two units, each with a different objective. Isabelle and Chris will go to Japan to secure the Omni-Resonator, while Kyla and Roland will be sent to Egypt to retrieve the Eye of Vengeance."

Nygus entered, holding a stack of manila envelopes. Sid nodded to her and addressed the group.

"We will reconvene in two hours at the city gate. Pick up your brief on your way out, and go straight home to pack. We'll be leaving immediately."

They filed out, each grabbing a manilla envelope before stepping into the hall. Sonya hesitantly released Roland's arm to follow Kyla away while Alexa stomped her foot impatiently, glaring unseen daggers at the Demon Hoop. She ground her teeth as his eyes lingered on her shrinking form.

"Can we go?" She hissed through clenched teeth.

"Go on without me. I need to talk to Stein."

With a huff she turned to go, livid strides rapidly carrying her away from her Meister.

"Don't be late."

He watched her disappear down the hall, then hung his head with a sigh of defeat. Obvious as it was to him that she was being immature about the whole situation, her reproach left a bitter taste in his mouth. It seemed painfully ironic to him that, just as he began to believe he was less than completely inept with women, he'd had such a severe falling out with his partner.

After several minutes of searching Roland found Stein in his classroom, straddling his rolling chair and staring idly at the black board. His lab coat, already barely held together by countless stitches, sported several new gashes and cuts.

"Roland." The Swordsmen felt a shiver crawl down his spine at the professor's unnerving monotone. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his blood stained clothes. The chair creaked as Stein spun to face him.

"I suppose there's something on your mind?"

The young Meister took a tentative step forward.

"There's something I wanted to ask-"

"Let me guess..." Stein interrupted. "Your attempt to correct your resonance with Alexa failed miserably?"

Roland frowned. "How did you know?"

"Do you really think I couldn't feel all that angst from here?"

"That's..." Roland's eyes fell. "Not what I came to ask about."

"Oh?" Stein raised an eyebrow, resting his chin on his hand. "Then what is it?"

"It's just that, before I partnered up with Alexa, I visited Medusa to figure out why I couldn't resonate with any Weapons."

Stein slid a hand into his pocket, drawing a box of cigarettes. "Go on."

"She told me it was because I had a special wavelength." Cigarette safely tucked between his lips, Stein produced a lighter from the same pocket.

"Considering recent events I wanted to make sure her diagnosis was...honest."

"Hmmm." A wisp of smoke rose from the glowing end of the cigarette as Stein tucked the lighter away, chair groaning in relief as he stood. "That seems like a reasonable request."

The professor turned back to the black board, scooping a piece of chalk from the top of his desk and simultaneously adjusting the screw in his head. After clicking the strange device into the desired position he raised the powdery nub to the board and quickly sketched an eye, opening as a vertical slit with four stick-like legs. He pondered the image for a moment before speaking.

"I knew your parents you know."

"What?" Roland blinked, taken aback by the sudden change of subject.

Stein, apparently ignoring Roland at this point, took a drag from his cigarette, savoring the smoke before letting it slip out from between his lips in a hazy cloud.

"They were a year ahead of Spirit and me, and they married soon after Spirit became Kami's Weapon." His hands seemed to fall into the pockets of his lab coat. "If I remember correctly their Weapons never got along, despite their Meister's intimacy."

Roland seemed to sway unsteadily at the mention of his parents, his original query forgotten.

"You knew them?"

The professor shot him a slightly irritated look.

"Didn't I already say that? Of course I knew them, don't be foolish." His eyes returned to the spider on the board, and he took another calming lungful of sweet smoke before speaking again. "Madeline was partnered with Sasha, and David was partnered with DeSoto. The four of them made for a truly fierce team..."

With a sigh he left his spot at the board and gestured for Roland to approach.

"But that's enough reminiscing. Let's have a look at this so-called special wavelength of yours."

Stein took hold of the young Meister's shoulders, keeping him still as the towering professor stooped to get at eye level with him. He met his elder's faded gray eyes with his own resolute brown ones but Stein seemed to be looking right through him, brows furrowed in concentration.

They remained like this for several minutes before Stein spoke again.

"Well..." He muttered, pulling himself to his full height and stepping back to his desk. "It looks like you've nothing to worry about."

"Wait!" Roland called after him. "That doesn't answer my question! Do I or don't I have a special wavelength?"

"Roland..." Stein took a calming drag from his cigarette. "I find that the term 'special' wavelength is rather vague and ambiguous. Every soul is unique, with its own strengths and weaknesses, its own special attributes. To separate souls into rigid categories based on their characteristics is folly."

He placed a hand on Roland's shoulder, guiding him towards the door.

"You'll find your strength in time, but the best thing you can do towards achieving it is to settle things with Alexa. Without mutual trust, you're both going to flounder."

He gently pushed him into the hall, pausing a moment before retreating into his classroom.

"Always remember, the Meister is only half the warrior."

* * *

Isabelle and Chris stood before the gate leading into the monastery garden, panting hard. On the stone path behind them floated the souls of two dozen monsters.

They had reached the gate just before Raena's forces had, and were forced to cut down the entire group to prevent them from getting inside to the Magic Tool. Their numbers had been so great that Chris, despite his dominance in ranged combat, had been forced to beat the last few enemies into bloody pulps with Claire's stock, unable to shoot fast enough to hold back the wall of gray clawed limbs that swept up the hill at them.

And despite the fact that they held off the entirety of the small army sent to retrieve the Magic Tool, a single person had slipped over the wall while Isabelle and Chris battled desperately to hold the gate.

After taking a moment to catch their breath they dashed into the garden, hoping they weren't too late to retrieve the tool.

There, under a cherry tree full of pink blossoms, stood a small altar, behind which there was a pond filled with lily pads. And in front of the altar stood a witch, the black leather of her jacket and pants gleaming in the moonlight.

She didn't seem to notice them enter, her attention totally invested in the object that sat on the altar. Chris held his breath as he took careful aim, but the sound of the trigger being pulled gave the witch enough warning to duck out of the way with a cry. She spun to face them, the countless leather belts wrapped around her waist and arms shifting with a faint hiss, an accusing finger pointed at them as she gawked.

"Hey! W-watch where you point that thing mister! You could've killed me!"

"That was the point." Chris sighed.

A look of total shock paralyzed the witch, before she broke down in girlish laughter. Chris's eyebrow twitched in annoyance as the witch composed herself.

"You think that you two can beat me? I am Lila, the mongoose witch!" She gave them a fierce, confident snarl. "And I'll tear you both to shreds if you come any closer to this Magic Tool!"

Isabelle adjusted her grip on Jackson, speaking quietly to Chris. "She may act like a joke, but she's still a witch. Let's get the Tool and go."

Chris nodded in agreement as Lila gaped at her.

"A j-joke? Do you even know what the Omni-Resonator does!" Isabelle took a step towards her, causing the witch to jump a little before continuing. "Well, since I'm gonna win anyway, I might as well tell you. The Omni-Resonator allows its wearer to resonate their wavelength with any inanimate object, essentially letting them turn anything within reach into a deadly Weapon! And with it, our -!"

Claire's thundering report silenced the witch, a wavelength slug catching Lila in the shoulder and sending her staggering backwards with a squeak.

"What the hell kid! Didn't you see I was in the middle of a monologue? Where are your manners!"

Chris allowed himself a smirk.

"My apologies, I must have misplaced them when you were boring the hell out of me."

Lila's face contorted with fury as she took an impossibly low stance, fingers taught in claw like fashion, and shouted her mantra.

"Weasels, weasel, mongoose!"

"Not very impressive." Isabelle chuckled at Lila's fingertips, which now bore a bright purple glow.

The witch's pupils dilated, her face took on a distinctly feral appearance.

"Cobra Flayer!" With a flash the purple energy tipping her fingers wrapped itself around her arms up to her shoulders. From each elbow and shoulder trailed three ribbons of ethereal violet energy, each hand twisted into a vicious glowing talon. She gave her claws an experimental flex.

"That's better."

The witch covered the distance between them in a single leap, shots from Chris's revolver zipping harmlessly past as she swiped at Isabelle. The startled Meister raised her axe in time to deflect Lila's clawed hand, which scored gashes into the stone beneath them before Lila forced her back with an arm thrust.

Face a mask of determination Isabelle brought Jackson down over the witch's head, only to have the blow stop short as Lila caught his blade between her glowing palms.

"Isabelle!" Jackson warned.

The Axe Meister's foot buried itself in Lila's gut, forcing her to relinquish her grip on the Demon Axe before Isabelle drew him back and smashed his blade into Lila's raised forearms. The force behind the blow was enough to send her skidding several feet across the courtyard, but the energy sheathing her arms kept them intact despite the direct hit.

The witch crouched to spring back at her opponent only to be knocked off balance by two of Claire's wavelength slugs, an opening Isabelle was quick to exploit. She charged, Jackson's blade splitting the air with a whistling horizontal chop. Again Lila halted the attack by catching the offending edge, but it was a move Isabelle had anticipated.

"Soul Resonance!" The Meister and Weapon cried out in unison, wavelength's meshing seamlessly.

In a blur she spun, pulling Jackson free and slashing her heel across the witch's jaw in a textbook roundhouse kick while Jackson's haft extended and his blades grew.

"Fimbulvinter!" She brought Jackson up in a chilling uppercut, jagged icicles erupting from his blade's icy path and forcing Lila to jump back to avoid the blow. She did a graceful back flip, successfully avoiding a withering volley of Chris's wavelength bullets, and landed with palms leveled at the Axe Meister.

"Pin Missile!" A flurry of glowing foot-long quills burst from each of her hands, each embedding itself in the cobblestone and ice that surrounded Isabelle, a pair of quills even lodging themselves in Jackson's raised blade. After a moment of delay each quill erupted into a brilliant violet explosion, sending Isabelle tumbling across the courtyard and showering her with the glittering remains of her icicles.

Lila ran serpentine towards the prostrate Meister, weaving between glimmering blue wavelength bullets as Chris tried in vain to slow her advance, quickly closing in on Isabelle as she struggled to her feet. Jackson gritted his teeth from within his weapon form.

"Get ready Isabelle!"

She swung her axe only to have Lila duck out of the way, dragging a claw across her side as she rolled past. Bright red blood splashed across the stone as Isabelle fell to one knee with a cry. In a flash of blue Jackson returned to human form, face adorned with a snarl and a gleaming half-circle blade protruding from his forearm as he crouched defensively over his wounded Meister.

Lila rose to swat the Weapon aside only to be struck by two shots from Claire, but before Chris could unleash anymore she had already sprung into the cherry tree, knocking several pink blossoms from their branches.

They floated peacefully to the ground as the three stood still, Chris with Claire trained on Lila, Lila perched in the cherry tree, and Isabelle catching her breath with a hand pressed to her side, blood seeping between her fingers as a distraught Jackson clenched and unclenched his fist in anticipation.

"Not very impressive." Lila cackled from her perch.

A shot from Claire forced her to jump down from the branch, and as her feet touched the ground she leapt at the crippled Isabelle, claws poised to meet the Demon Axe who had planted himself between the witch and his wounded Meister. But Chris anticipated the attack, and caught her in the side with a slug that sent her tumbling across the garden and into the far wall. She rose to her feet, shaking the dirt from her jacket.

"Why are you Shibusen brats always so goddamned stubborn?" She hissed.

Isabelle tried to stand without success and Jackson stooped to her side, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't push it Isabelle, you'll only make it worse." He cautioned.

She started to protest, but went silent as Chris stepped forward.

"Jackson's right. Fighting in your current condition would be detrimental to our cause." His left arm hung loosely at his side as he assumed his gunfighter's stance, eyes not leaving the witch as he continued to address his teammates. "Leave this to us."

This elicited a girlish chuckle from Lila, to which Chris responded with a tired sigh, cherry blossoms swirling lazily past him on a slight breeze.

"Come on Claire..." Moonlight glinted off the Demon Gun's chrome barrel.

"Let's show her the power of a Two-Star Meister."

* * *

Roland, Alexa, Kyla, and Sonya stood at the crest of a sand dune, the raging sun beating down on the scorched Egyptian desert. Before them rose an immense pyramid, towering ominously over the vast emptiness like a monument to some long forgotten deity, seeming untouched by the creeping decay of passing time. At the pyramid's base was an opening framed by a simple arch that lead to its interior, and it was before this entry that the students stood.

Both Kyla and Sonya had abandoned their hoodies in the heat, the Meister wearing a plain orange tank-top while her Weapon wore a powder blue one. Despite this change in attire, Sonya still found the climate to be uncomfortable and oppressive. Even Roland and Alexa were in foul moods, though the Demon Hoop suspected that it was not due to the heat. In fact, Alexa had spent the entirety of the flight to Egypt and the ensuing trek to the pyramid glaring angrily at either Sonya, Roland, or whatever else was unfortunate enough to be directly in her way. The Demon Hoop could not help but feel that she was to blame, Alexa had sent her clear signals to stay away from her Meister and she had ignored them, now Roland was suffering for it.

"Well, I'm not picking anything up." Kyla said, still peering into the inky passage. "We should get going before that changes."

"Yeah." Alexa huffed, brushing past the Hoop Meister and stomping into the tunnel. "Let's get this over with."

Kyla rolled her eyes as the rest of the group started out to follow the simmering Demon Sword. _Drama queen_.

The impenetrable darkness of the passage welcomed them into its shadowy embrace, stifling the heat and forcing hands to reach for the cool stone of the tunnel walls for guidance. Sand shifted silently under their feet as they proceeded ever deeper into the impenetrable murk, the sound of their level breathing thundering in the enclosed space.

Roland let his subconscious keep him on Alexa's trail while his thoughts returned to his earlier meeting with Stein. Instead of dwelling on the professor's infuriatingly vague and ambiguous answer to his query, they fluttered like timid birds around his mention of Roland's parents. _The four of them made for a truly fierce team..._

* * *

_A seven year old Roland peeked into the hall leading to the front door of his childhood home, wide eyed and ruddy cheeked as he absorbed the deep and melodious tones of his parent's conversation. He wore a dull green T-shirt and cargo shorts, small brown boots laced tight around his feet. Even now his mahogany hair is irreparably mussed, but his glasses are nowhere to be seen. It will be another three years before the framed landscapes on the walls and his mother's smiling face begin to blur into poorly defined blotches of pastel._

_But for now he can clearly make out his parent's features; the generous dash of freckles beneath his mother's deep brown eyes and across her soft nose, the creases that stretched from the corners of his father's piercing hazel ones. A modest blue sun dress clung to his mother's form while sandy brown hair tumbled down around her shoulders, framing a face that harbored only loving smiles and tender kisses. His father stood across from her, beaming with ropey arms crossed over his chest. With a muttered word and a gruff chuckle he stepped out through the open front door, Roland's mother turning to gaze at her half-hidden son with twinkling eyes._

"_Hello darling."  
_

"_Hello mother."__ Roland shuffled out from his hiding place, rushing to his mother's side and burying his face in the soft material of her dress, voice muffled by the smothering garment._

_ With a soft laugh she placed a gentle hand atop his head, running her fingers through his messy hair. "Why don't you go say good morning to father? I'm sure he'd love your company."_

_He looked up at her with eyes still bleary from a morning spent sleeping in. "What's he doing?"_

"_He's working with Mist." Hands on his shoulders, she gave him a gentle push towards the still open front door. "Go on now, go say hello."_

_Uncertain steps carried Roland through the gaping portal and into the morning sun. Before him stretched the plains, hushing him with their own silent immensity, and above him hung a sky of piercing blue, cumulus clouds crawling along the southern horizon. Some distance from the house's modest porch stood his father, the sleeves of his red plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows while his hand rested on the neck of a docile gray mare, moving in slow circles as he whispered soothing words into the great animal's ear._

_Though he was turned the other way his smile widened as Roland crossed to him, as if he had anticipated the boy's approach._

_"Good morning Roland." He said, winking over his shoulder as Roland drew near._

_"Good morning father." Roland replied, taking his spot at the horse's head. They shared a few moments of pleasant silence, Roland staring into the gentle amber eyes of the mare while his father turned his own eyes up to the horizon._

"_Beautiful day today." He murmured, to no one in particular. Roland nodded in ascent any way, a small smile brightening his eyes as the horse nuzzled his shoulder. "And that sky... you don't get a sky like that in the city Roland. Out here you can see the stars, you can see the rain and lightning turning the buttes muddy in the distance. It's a sky..." He seemed lost in thought for a moment, struggling for words._

_With a chuckle he knelt, propping the mare's front hoof on his knee._

"_It's a sky for shoeing horses under."_

* * *

"What do you mean you didn't sense them?" Alexa's livid whisper jerked Roland from his pleasant reminiscences. He had fallen behind the group somewhat, and the girls were all huddled together near a bend in the passage. Flickering torches now lined the walls, casting a shaky orange light on the sandy tunnel."

"Soul Perception isn't perfect you know." Responded Kyla in an even tone, eyes narrowing at the Demon Sword. "Thick stone walls like these tend to scramble wavelength signatures, making them almost impossible to detect from a distance."

Alexa hissed an exasperated sigh, running a hand through her blood red hair. "Great, now we have no idea how many other people are in here with us!"

Sonya cast a distressed look at Roland as the other two continued to bicker, but just as he moved to intervene an echoing voice reached them from further up the hall.

"Please ladies, I assure you there is no need to be unpleasant with one another! You have my word, as a gentleman, that there are only three of us!"

The four exchanged wide eyed looks of surprise as another voice sounded its surly response.

"The hell are you doing Rafael? What ever happened to the element of surprise!"

"Marcus, please! The necessity for such vulgarity is absent!"

"Damn it, speak English man!" There was the sound of a scuffle and the dull thump of a body hitting the sand.

"Unhand me you louse!"

"HEY!" Alexa, her patience spent and eyebrow twitching in annoyance, had stepped boldly out from hiding. "Do you two work for Raena or what?"

The others followed her, and the opposing pair came into view. A boy of perhaps seventeen, with bleached blonde hair and faded blue eyes, pushed his partner aside and struggled to his feet, hurriedly brushing stray grains of sand from his nearly spotless white suit.

"I would never associate myself with that detestable temptress!" Face flustered, he raised his nose at the thought of the Raven Witch. "My loyalty is vested only in my Weapon, Marcus, and the Knight, my master and teacher."

"Raf, I hate to break it to you buddy..." Began Marcus, a towering boy with an atrocious slouch and raven black hair he wore spiked in all directions. "If we serve the Knight, and the Knight serves Raena, then we serve Raena by association. Sorry to burst your bubble champ."

The contrast between the Weapon and Meister was baffling. Rafael's formal white suit clashed hopelessly with Marcus's tight black jeans and T-shirt, not to mention the countless chains that hung from the Weapon's pants, neck, and wrists. His attire was so stereotypically "Goth" that it seemed impossible that the two had ever agreed to work together in the first place. But Roland was wary of their opposing personalities for he knew that some of the most powerful teams in Shibusen were polar opposites. Unsurprisingly, Black*star was the first example that came to mind.

Kyla interrupted just as Rafael turned to give his Weapon a hefty piece of his mind.

"You said there were three of you. Where's the third?"

"What?" Rafael blinked, his original train of thought effectively derailed. "Oh, the Knight went ahead to retrieve the artifact."

The blonde Meister's eyes widened in realization. The air was suddenly heavy with tension, the muscles of all present coiled in anticipation as the recent banter was lost to the reality that they were all indeed enemies. Eyes darted between bodies for a few electric moments before Rafael cleared his throat.

"You could always walk away and say we beat you here. There is no cowardice in tactical retreat."

Alexa gave a dry laugh. "Give up in the face of two to one odds? Not a chance pretty boy."

"Then it appears we've reached an impasse." He sighed, reaching a hand out to Marcus. "Such a shame to destroy such fine examples of female anatomy."

The Demon Sword dug in her heel, face a snarl as her forearm disappeared in a flash of white.

"I'm gonna make you eat those words."

* * *

**A/N-** Double cliff hanger. U mad?


	8. Objects of Desire

Objects of Desire

* * *

"Then it appears we've reached an impasse." Rafael sighed, reaching a hand out to Marcus. "Such a shame to destroy such fine examples of female anatomy."

The Demon Sword dug in her heel, face a snarl as her forearm disappeared in a flash of white.

"I'm gonna make you eat those words."

"We'll see who's eating what when I'm done with you." Marcus chuckled darkly, disappearing in a flash of dull violet. Sonya and Alexa fled into the hands of their Meisters, assuming weapon form as Rafael caught Marcus in midair. Roland and Kyla jumped back as the bleach blonde Meister lunged, Weapon forcing a small cloud of sand into the air as it dug into the tunnel's soft floor.

"By Death, he's-" Sonya gawked.

"Huge, I know." Marcus interrupted from within his weapon form, grinning wildly. "I hear ladies like 'em big."

Marcus now resembled an immense sword, almost two feet longer than his Meister was tall with a blade wider than a human head. His blade, however, was a long rectangular piece of metal with flat edges and a rounded point, ringed with countless small dagger-like teeth. Situated on his long haft was what appeared to be a trigger, and just under his cross guard was the pale gray handle of a rip cord.

"Oh come on!" The image of Alexa palming her forehead was reflected within her blade. "Who the hell combined a chainsaw and a sword?"

The thundering roar of Marcus's engine drowned the Demon Sword's tirade as Rafael gave his Weapon's rip cord a forceful tug. Marcus's now spinning teeth threw sand in all directions as his Meister flourished the immense sword, pointing the whirring blade at his opponents.

"I am Rafael Giordano, Chainswordsman!" Marcus's insane laughter could barely be heard over his Meister and the growl of his own engine. "I shall claim your souls in the name of the Black Knight. You have offered me no recourse."

He took a single step forward, slashing Marcus at both Roland and Kyla in the same swing. Roland leapt back, barely deflecting the threatening edge with his own, while Kyla deftly sprang out of reach.

Already an unpleasant prickling sensation began to chaff at Roland's palms as he thrust Alexa at the advancing Chainswordsman, only to be forced further in the opposite direction to avoid Marcus's screaming blade. But even as Roland fell back Kyla went on the offensive, letting the chainsword pass harmlessly under her as she leapt and planted her feet on the vertical tunnel wall, seeming to hang there for a moment before pushing off and lashing at Rafael while she sailed over his head.

She landed in a crouch several feet behind him, spinning just in time to catch Rafael's immense Weapon with Sonya's edge. Marcus's spinning teeth caught on the Demon Hoop's blade, and suddenly Kyla found herself struggling against not only his oppressive weight but also his roaring engine as his teeth fought to pull her Weapon from her hands.

But as he tried to overwhelm the Hoop Meister Roland took the opportunity to slam an open palm into the small of his back, making Rafael grimace at the stinging wavelength attack. With a muttered curse he disengaged Kyla and lashed at the other swordsman, Marcus carving a jagged line in the sandstone wall before crashing into the ground at Roland's feet as he backpedaled to avoid the blow.

They paused to catch their breath, Rafael looking back and forth between Kyla and Roland. Blood wept from a gash in his shoulder, staining his white blazer red.

"Any closer to my neck and this battle would already be over." He said sheepishly. "You're going to regret missing that shot."

"Give it up Rafael." Kyla began, holding Sonya loosely at her side. "There's no way you can fight both of us in such an enclosed space."

"If that's the case…" Marcus chuckled. "I guess we'll just have to make some room, eh Rafael?"

"Right you are." Responded his Meister.

In a sudden blur of motion he slashed at the roof of the tunnel above Kyla, forcing her to dive past him as large pieces of stone fell from the gutted ceiling and blocked off the passage. Without wasting a moment his blade continued on to meet the wall, spitting small chips of sand stone in all directions as Marcus lacerated the ancient barrier. With a final flourish Rafael withdrew his Weapon, having gouged a gaping hole that appeared to lead into the neighboring chamber.

The Chainswordsman disappeared into the improvised entrance without a word, leaving Kyla and Roland in the tunnel to ponder their next move.

"With the tunnel blocked there's no way to bypass him." Sighed Kyla. "We'll just have to play along and hope we find another way through."

Sonya whimpered as the pair moved to pursue their opponent.

"I hope the others are having a better time than we are."

* * *

"Jackson's right. Fighting in your current condition would be detrimental to our cause." Chris's left arm hung loosely at his side as he assumed his gunfighter's stance, eyes not leaving the witch as he continued to address his teammates. "Leave this to us."

This elicited a girlish chuckle from Lila, to which Chris responded with a tired sigh, cherry blossoms swirling lazily past him on a slight breeze.

"Come on Claire..." Moonlight glinted off the Demon Gun's chrome barrel.

"Let's show her the power of a Two-Star Meister."

Lila was a cackling blur of black and violet as she charged, claws trailing parallel gashes behind her as she streaked towards the stationary Gun Meister. But her glowing talons passed harmlessly by as Chris lunged and slammed his elbow into the witch's solar plexus. There was an audible crack that was quickly followed by Claire's bark as Chris slammed six wavelength slugs into Lila's leather clad stomach.

The combined force of the blows were enough to not only bring the witch's charge to a abrupt and painful halt, but to lift her off her feet and send her sprawling in the other direction. She landed on her back with a choked cry as the impact jostled her now fractured ribcage, claws twitching spasmodically as pain wracked her body and tears sprang to her eyes.

Isabelle could only gasp in disbelief as Jackson slung an arm around her shoulders and helped her to her feet. _He's so fast, is this what a Two-Star Meister is capable of?_

With another pained cry Lila struggled to her feet, only to fall whimpering to her knees as her Cobra Flayer claws dissipated.

"You witches never learn, do you?" Asked Chris, taking a step forward with Claire trained on the witch as she fought for breath. "How many of you do we have to kill before you understand the futility of your actions? How many of you must die in this pointless struggle against Death?"

She met his gaze with steely eyes, but her voice wavered feebly. "Our struggle stops at _extinction_, Meister. So long as there is a witch who draws breath, there will be no peace."

He pulled Claire's hammer back with a click. "So be it. Lila, Mongoose Witch, your soul is mine."

"Any last words before we paint the floor with your brains, skunk head?" Quipped Claire, beaming triumphantly within her weapon form.

The witch's piercing stare was enough to send a shiver down the cocky Demon Gun's spine.

"Weasels, weasel, mongoose!"

Chris's shot went awry as a sudden shock wave threw him across the courtyard. Jackson stooped to shield his Meister from the sudden burst of energy as Lila rose from the crater she had left in the wake of her transformation.

"Mamba Flayer!"

"Um… Chris? I think we should seriously consider adopting a shoot first ask questions later policy." Chris ignored his Weapon's comment, springing to his feet and shaking off the daze of the impact.

"You know, most witches shy away from close-range combat. But not me, no sir." Lila began, her voice no longer reflecting her grievous wound. "In fact, I went as far as to custom build a series of spells specifically designed to boost my melee abilities." She held up a single glowing talon. "The first was Cobra Flayer. This, is the second."

The original talons had returned, but this time with the addition of a half dozen quills that sprouted from each forearm and swept up towards her shoulders. Her legs were similarly clad, enveloped in gently glowing energy with violet ribbons trailing from her knees and hips while her feet were tipped with small, wicked looking claws. A nebulous orb of the same energy encapsulated her chest, rising from between her shoulder blades to wreath her head in a mantle of violet flame.

Though he would never admit it to anyone, Jackson was secretly glad that his Meister had been wounded so early in the fight. It meant that she wouldn't have to face the witch in her current form.

That was assuming, of course, that Chris and Claire survived.

An outcome that seemed increasingly unlikely as the Gun Meister barely dodged a stone shattering blow, throwing himself into an evasive roll as Lila threw of volley of Pin Missiles in his direction with a backhanded flick of her arm. The projectiles blossomed into brilliant violet explosions as she sprang at her quarry, claws shredding stone like paper as wavelength slug after wavelength slug failed to slow her attacks.

Jackson looked on with increasing anxiety as the one sided battle continued to rage, Chris barely keeping a step ahead of his determined opponent. A pained moan from Isabelle prompted him to dip his head to hers.

"Just hold on, all right? I'm gonna get you out of here." He assured her, helping her limp towards the gate that led out of the courtyard.

"Jackson, we can't." She whimpered, amber eyes pleading with the Demon Axe. "They'll die if we don't help."

"And how are we going to do that? You're not going to be much help in your condition." He snapped, hoping his severe tone would dissuade his Meister from the foolish course of action she was insinuating. "Or do you want me to lean you against the wall and go fight her myself?" He added, immediately regretting the addendum, knowing that if push came to shove he'd probably do just that.

"Please, just wait a minute, I…" She cast a desperate glance over her shoulder as another series of explosions rumbled through the courtyard.

"I have a plan."

* * *

Rafael and Marcus had kept their word, the chamber that they'd broken into was truly massive. Its ceiling was shrouded in darkness unmoved by the torches that lined the lower sections of the walls and cast their orange glow on the smooth sandstone floor. Roland and Kyla entered cautiously, stepping gingerly over the scattered rubble at the improvised entrance the chainsword had left in its wake.

The purr and occasional hiccup of Marcus's engine gave the room an edgy ambiance which seemed to contradict the smile his Meister greeted their opponents with.

"This guy is ridiculous." Roland heard Alexa grumble.

"There, now we've plenty of space in which to maneuver. Our contest can continue uninhibited." He turned his back to them, not noticing Roland and Kyla edging closer as he rolled his shoulders. "Shall we resume?"

Roland's answer came with the searing impact of his wavelength attack, slamming an open palm into the Chainswordsman's side and throwing his soul against his enemy's. The attack sent Rafael skidding sideways and before he could steady himself Kyla inundated him with a blinding flurry of slashes, Sonya's blade humming as she spun around her Meister.

"There may be more room for you to use your Weapon-" Kyla said as her relentless attacks continued, Rafael bracing the flat of his chainsword against his arm in an effort to stymie the Demon Hoop's stinging blade. Marcus's engine roared with mechanical vigor as Rafael launched his counterattack, simply forcing his immense Weapon through the incoming blows to chop at the attacking Meister. "-but all you've done is give me more room to avoid it!"

Marcus's teeth met stone as Kyla threw herself into a roll, coming up behind the Chainswordsman and whipping Sonya across his back. Rafael gave a pained growl as the Demon Hoop drew a bright red line from his hip to his shoulder, and Marcus matched his Meister's growl with the scream of his engine as Rafael lashed at his attacker.

But the nimble Hoop Meister sprang over the slash; letting Marcus's gnashing teeth gut sandstone as she gracefully landed several feet away.

"And now you can't even touch me." She smirked, predatory violet eyes twinkling from under her deep azure bangs.

Rafael prepared to spit a dignified response, but his Weapon's shouted warning drew his attention elsewhere.

"On your right Raf!" The Chainswordsman raised his Weapon just in time to catch Alexa's blade, Marcus grinning at the Demon Sword. "Just couldn't wait for your turn, eh?" He chuckled. "Don't worry, most girls share that sentiment."

His comment left Alexa gawking, flushed. "You're such a pig! Roland-!" Her Meister grunted. "Let's kick this guy's ass!"

With another grunt of affirmation Roland disengaged the chainsword, side stepping the Weapon as it fell forward without resistance and sending his own whistling towards Rafael's chest. In a blur of bleach blonde Rafael ducked under a snarling Alexa, slipping past Roland and blocking the backhanded slash that pursued him before retaliating with one of his own. Kyla stalked around the periphery of the fight, waiting for an opening to present itself as the two swordsmen came together in a tangle of blades and screeching metal.

Marcus's size denied his Meister some of the speed Roland enjoyed with his smaller Weapon, but the Demon Chainsword made up for the difference with raw power. So far Roland was still able to avoid the blows he would've been unable to block, and Rafael's technique gave him periodic openings to launch wavelength attacks, but the Chainswordsman was not the only one Roland had to contend with. Alexa's hostile wavelength had already numbed his arms to the point where he couldn't feel the impact of his Weapon meeting Rafael's, his blows becoming increasingly sluggish as the Demon Sword seemed to grow heavier and heavier. It had gotten to the point where she was less a Weapon and more a piece of metal with which to fend off Rafael's attacks while he waited for an opportunity to land a wavelength strike.

And after a few moments of struggle, one did. Roland lunged to press an open palm against Rafael's stomach, slamming his wavelength into the Chainswordsman and sending him skidding backwards. Kyla took advantage of his vulnerability, springing forward and catching his neck on Sonya's dull inner edge. With a grunt Kyla rolled backwards, pulling Rafael with her and planting her feet at the small of his back to send him sprawling in the opposite direction.

"Alexa, remember that electrical attack you did during our duel with your sister?" Roland hurriedly asked as Rafael struggled to his feet, coughing.

"Yeah, what about it?" There was obvious annoyance in Alexa's response.

Kyla lunged at Rafael just as he regained his footing, but Marcus's gnashing teeth quickly forced her to dance out of reach.

"Now might be a good time to use it."

Before the Sword had a chance to protest her Meister had already covered half the distance between them and the dazed Rafael, knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip around her haft. Alexa's mind raced as she tried to remember how she'd performed the attack in the first place.

_Let's see, we were fighting and… _She felt her blood run a degree cooler at the memory of her sister's comment. _That's it. _Her eyes darted to Sonya, torchlight glinting off her razor edge as Roland seemed to speed past the pair in slow motion, drawing closer to Rafael and Marcus with crushing inevitability. _It was her. _A familiar bitter taste filled the Demon Sword's mouth. _I thought of her._ Roland was swinging her now, angling her towards their opponent, her blade splitting the air. _Why doesn't he understand?_

_It was her-_

Almost too fast to see, a single brilliant arc of electricity leapt from her cross guard to the tip of her blade.

_-fault._

A single word found its way to the tip of Alexa's tongue, bursting from between her lips almost against her will, on instinct.

"VOLT!"

Time seemed to hang still for a moment. Alexa could see Rafael's dismayed blink and Marcus's angry snarl with startling clarity, rivulets of energy bridging the gap between the her blade and his own as they drew ever nearer to each other. But despite the coming violence, her mind orbited only one thought.

_It was her fault._

The crash of their Weapons meeting thundered in the cavernous chamber, the screech of Marcus's teeth against Alexa's edge matched by the hair-raising crackling of the electricity that danced along the Demon Sword's blade. Now it was Roland whose silhouette began to blur as he spun, slashing again and again at the Chainswordsman, electricity trailing behind his Weapon as she forced Rafael further and further back with her newly empowered blows.

Alexa trembled with seething anger. _What right did she have to come between me and __**my **__Meister?_ _All __**she's **__caused is __**trouble**__! _The Demon Sword shuddered with a whimper as Roland's wavelength began to mesh with hers, gently enveloping her stormy soul. Eager and hopeful she moved to reciprocate. _See? Look at what __**we **__can do! Can't you see? __**We **__don't need __**her**__! Don't you understand? _A ripple of doubt disturbed their growing resonance. _Don't you?_ The doubt turned to resentment, manifesting itself as increasing friction between the wavelengths of the Weapon and Meister. _Do you even care? _The electricity skittering across her blade became sporadic; some of the unruly ribbons crawling up her Meister's arm to add to the quickly intensifying pain of her bristling wavelength. _You don't __**care**__!_

"Alexa-!" Roland's warning was cut short as the wavelength rejection physically threw them apart, forcing Alexa to return to human form and sending both skidding away from each other. It was only upon hitting the far wall of the chamber, however, that Alexa's thoughts returned to the battle at hand.

Roland had sunk to his knees, shoulders slumped, arms hanging weakly at his sides. She swore she could see steam rising from the reddened limbs. _Did I do that?_

"Dear me, that was impressive." Coughed a familiar chainswordsman. His left arm hung at his side, twitching spasmodically as blood wept from a gash just above his elbow. "Using electricity to inhibit your enemy's nervous system… quite a tactic indeed."

"I think we need a boost Raf." Growled Marcus.

He rolled his good shoulder. "Against all three of them… yes. That seems reasonable." Giving Marcus's trigger a squeeze he imbedded the Weapon in the sandstone floor, reaching the freed hand into his pocket. Alexa's breath caught in her throat when it reappeared. _No…_

"Bastard!" Kyla hissed as he drew two faintly glowing blue orbs from the pocket of his white blazer. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? Those are the souls of innocent humans! You'll go mad if you consume them!"

Rafael shot the Hoop Meister an annoyed look, tsking quietly. "So naïve, but I suppose it's to be expected from one of Death's soldiers." He tossed one of the souls to Marcus, who caught it with an outstretched hand and a feral grin as his torso emerged from his blade. "We will show you the price of your ignorance." Head tilted back he lowered the pulsing sphere into his open mouth. Marcus laughed darkly, practically shoving the unfortunate soul down his throat as he retreated into his weapon form.

Even Alexa, who possessed no Soul Perception to speak of, felt their twisted souls inflate with power as they consumed those of the innocent humans. Marcus's engine filled the chamber with its roar, seeming to saturate the air with his aimless anger and madness as Rafael gave their enemies a grin that now sported pointed, shark-like teeth. The Demon Sword cast an anxious look to her allies, the disheveled but collected Kyla and her Meister, Roland, who had yet to rise, his shallow breathing reaching her ears like a pained whisper.

Rafael leveled Marcus at Kyla, holding the immense chainsword with only his good arm. "Come, my blade hungers."

With a huff, Alexa staggered forwards, surprised at how weak her legs felt. _That wavelength rejection must've taken a toll on me to. _Eyes steeling she whipped her arm to her side as it disappeared in a flash of white, the billowing cuffs of her bell-bottoms shifting as she brandished her blade arm. Marcus's cackling could barely be heard over the scream of his engine.

"Delicious."

* * *

Spirit, the scarlet headed Death Scythe, was leaning silent and unseen against the towering mirror that was the lonely and central furnishing of the Death Room, his Meister bobbing up and down in gesticulation as he spoke into it's opposite side. Hands buried in the pockets of his slacks he let his bloody red bangs hang over his eyes, quietly following the quirky tones and melodies of the Death God's paradoxical voice.

"I'm glad to hear it! I'll admit was just a teeny bit worried that Europe Branch would have some trouble with Justin here in the States."

There was an effeminate laugh.

"Well sir, as an Autonomous Weapon Justin never really spent much time at Headquarters anyway." Another chuckle. "We're all quite used to having him disappear for days at a time, hunting pre-Kishin and whatnot, so we're well adapted to operating in his absence."

The Shinigami bobbed again, eyes smiling. "Good, good. With most of the Death Scythes here at Shibusen, I wanted to make sure that their jurisdictions were still holding together without them."

"Did you hear?" The faceless voice had the hint of a sly smirk. "They had a 'wear-your-pajamas-to-work-day' down at East Asia Branch the day after Azusa left."

They shared a laugh at that, Spirit struggling to stifle his own mirth as Death's laughter drew to a close with a happy sigh.

"So, how's Sasha been?"

The Death Sycthe's face and mood immediately darkened. The fact that the voice did not hesitate for even a moment before responding only exacerbated his growing anxiety.

"She's doing fine, a little bit restless though. We haven't been on a mission in months. How has Roland been doing? Has he found a Weapon yet?"

Spirit found himself grinding his teeth. _How can they be so nonchalant? It's like they're pretending nothing ever happened! _

"He has, as a matter of fact. They've collected a little over thirty souls, but they're in a bit of a rough patch right now."

A proud smile was evident in the voice when it responded. "He'll pull through, he's a pragmatic boy. Just like his father was." There was a moment of silence. "What kind of Weapon is he?"

Death cleared his throat. "_She _is a Demon Sword."

"A Demon Sword… just like-" The voice had the whimsical quality of reminiscence.

"Yes-" The Shinigami interrupted. "In fact, that's just what I've been meaning to discuss with you."

Words were exchanged. Spirit winced. He and the Death God had discussed how they were going to break the news to her at great length, with the hope that Sasha's short temper had not rubbed off on her Meister in the years since the accident. Though that was proving to be the case, Spirit could tell from his former classmate's quickly straining voice that she desperately needed a hug.

"Did anyone sense his soul?"

The Death God was silent. There was a resigned sigh from the voice in the mirror.

"There are only three people in the _world _with a soul like that. It's the only way to know for certain. Are you sure no one saw it?"

Death raised an angular finger to his invisible chin. "Actually, come to think of it, one of the students on that mission did have Soul Perception. Perhaps she could-"

The voice had an aggressive, almost desperate edge. "He was attacking _students_?"

"He's in league with witches Madeline. We don't know why, and we're not even sure it's really him, but either way this character has made their loyalties plain."

The voice in the mirror whimpered, and Death continued in a softer tone.

"I'm sorry it's come to this, but we knew his sanity was compromised by the Tibet Incident. The only reason we didn't act earlier is because he dropped off the radar, but I'm afraid I can no longer stay my hand."

There was a moment of silence.

"Under normal circumstances I'd be sending Stein and Marie, but both of them are already committed to locating the Kishin. It's the same story with Sid and Nygus, though I doubt they'd be able to beat him either way. The other Death Scythes are all occupied with their respective duties, so you see the predicament I've been placed in."

Another moment of silence. This time it was Madeline who ended it.

"So… you want me to do it." There was another lull in the conversation as she seemed to mull over the inferred request. "You know how much stronger he got just after the accident, how much stronger we _all _got. And I have no doubt he's only been getting stronger since."

The God bowed his head. "Madeline, I truly wish there was another way. I know how close you all were, but without Stein you're the only person I can rely on. Will you do it?"

There was a tired sigh. "Yes sir. I'll gather my things and contact you again in a week's time."

Death's chipper attitude suddenly, jarringly, returned. "Well then, catch 'a later! Keep up the good work! Keep Europe Branch in line for me, eh?"

A faint click signaled that the communication had ended. Spirit peeled himself from the back of the mirror with a sigh.

"I still can't believe that you two can talk about it so nonchalantly. Like she's still there." He shivered at the thought. "It's unnatural."

Death groaned. "Spirit, we've been over this. Sasha isn't dead. None of those Weapons are. They're just-"

"I know, I know." Interrupted Spirit, waving off his Meister's imminent explanation. "Do you think she can do it? I mean, he was strong back when he was a student. Imagine how much stronger he'll be now that his soul has-"

"Don't forget that Madeline went through the same process. As far as we know, they're on an even playing field." He steepled his rectangular index fingers. "But only time will tell. Hopefully the students can put a stop to whatever he's planning before it's too late."

* * *

"COME BACK HERE YOU LITTLE SNAKE!" Chunks of stone and clods of dirt were thrown into the air as one of Lila's claws gouged a sizeable furrow into a piece of courtyard once occupied by a certain nimble gun fighter. The aforementioned gun fighter had darted out of reach just in the nick of time, barely avoiding the blow and slamming three more unnoticed wavelength slugs into the snarling Mongoose Witch.

"This isn't really working." Observed Claire, her voice surprisingly calm despite the glowing talon that whistled within inches of gutting her Meister.

"Ah, really? Such _insight _Claire!" Bending slightly at the waist, Chris avoided a second swipe before rolling to the side to avoid a third. "Have you considered a career as a military strategist?"

"Psh, who put the bee in your bonnet Sassafras? So _sassy _today!" The tip of Lila's middle finger nicked the sleeve of Chris's dress shirt. "But seriously, we're kinda gettin' shafted out here. How about we hit her with Brontide?"

"That might be a wise course of action." With a flick of his wrist he whipped Claire's stock across the witch's jaw, stunning her for the moment he needed to spring back and take firm hold of the Demon Revolver with both hands. "Prepare for Soul Resonance!"

Claire began to glow blue in his hands, a look of fierce concentration on the Demon Gun's face. "Wavelength calibrated, capacitor locks disengaged, ready!"

"Soul Resonance!" The two cried out in unison, Chris's face painted by an uncharacteristically fierce expression.

"Bron-"

"HEY! OVER HERE!"

The unexpected and jarring shout broke the pair's concentration, Claire's azure glow fading as she and her Meister lost Resonance. But, luckily for them, the shout had also successfully caught the witch's attention.

Lila gave them a dirty scowl before turning to face the intruder.

"Didn't I already finish with you?" She spat, obviously irked at having been interrupted.

Jackson shot the witch a cocky grin. "Nope. You got my Meister pretty good, but you forgot about me." He laughed the most stereotypically masculine laugh he could muster, hands finding their way to his hips as he struck a heroic pose. "And now I'm back to make you regret it."

"Are you kidding me?" The witch gawked. "What do you expect to do without your Meister?"

"Yeah!" Barked Claire. "What the fuck are you thinking Jackson? We almost had her!" Chris cocked an eyebrow in silence.

"HAH! You've made the **fatal **mistake of underestimating **me**!" He pointed a condescending finger in their general direction. "For I-" A half moon axe-blade erupted from his forearm, glimmering in the moonlight. "-am an Autonomous Weapon!"

A moment of silence.

"WHAT?" Claire tangled her hands in her curly blonde hair in frustration. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Lila, however, gave the Demon Axe an appraising look. "Interesting. Well, I suppose I'll just have to maim you then." She took a single threatening step towards him.

And he turned on his heel and ran.

"Wait, what?" Her scowl fell, replaced by a look of confusion. "Where are you-"

"Gotta catch me first!" He shot her a cross eyed look over his shoulder, tongue sticking from his mouth at an oblique angle.

His taunting had the desired effect, Lila's face actually reddening with anger, stone splintering under her clawed feet as she stormed towards the retreating Weapon. Jackson pumped his arms furiously, the sound of his tennis shoes slapping the stone of the courtyard seeming to mock the Mongoose Witch as she drew ever closer, violet claws rigid in anticipation of the imminent kill.

Heart hammering, Jackson poured all of his strength into his legs as he neared the cherry tree sitting by the pond at the center of the courtyard. With a huff he dove past it, barely avoiding the glowing talon that threatened to hamstring him. Lila growled, expecting it would take at least another seven or eight seconds to catch the wily Demon Axe.

What she wasn't expecting was the hand that shot out from behind the tree and caught her quarry as he disappeared in a flash of blue.

_Ah crap._

"Flash Freeze!"

Countless veins of ice rushed from the point where Jackson's blade met the ground, quickly strangling the tree and the surrounding stone in his icy grip. Lila, moving too fast to change her course, came to an abrupt halt in the middle of Jackson's web as the creeping substance bound her feet to the ground in a chilled vice grip. And before she could pull her legs free, a very angry looking Isabelle emerged from her hiding place behind the tree and whipped Jackson at the witch's head with blinding speed.

Lila caught the Demon Axe's blade between her palms, grinning wildly.

"Was this your big plan? Do you really think you can win by _immobilizing _me?" The ice around her calves began to crack as she flexed the claws on her feet. "You should've tapped out when you had the chance!" Isabelle's fierce amber eyes seemed to burn with determination, and for a moment Lila's resolve wavered. "What are you trying to prove? What will-"

Isabelle slid a hand to the bottom of Jackson's haft.

"SHUT-" A blur, she freed her Weapon's blade from the witch's grasp and levered his pommel into her already fractured solar plexus. "UP!"

Lila's eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets as the blow connected, before her mouth tore open in a choked cry as the ice around her feet shattered and she was sent sprawling. Tears sprang to her eyes as her spell dissipated and the pain of her damaged rib cage burned with renewed vigor.

"Just… stop talking." The blonde huffed, sinking to her knees and clasping a hand to her still bleeding side, giving the witch an icy glare as Jackson reverted to human form to stoop beside his Meister.

The witch threw her head back against the cool stone, biting her lower lip in frustration. _I can't keep fighting like this. You let 'em land one lucky shot and the whole battle's lost._ She tried, unsuccessfully, to lever herself into a sitting position, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. After a few failed attempts at sitting upright, she fell back with a dull thud and a pout.

"Fine!" She snaked a hand into a small pouch hanging at her waist. "You get the Omni-Resonator, _this time._" Still prostrate, she scattered a handful of purple powder around herself. "Just remember…" She took a moment to pat her hands against her leather pants. "In the end, to tool belongs to _us_."

The Mongoose witch gave them on last hateful look. "Warp Powder!"

And in a flash of light, all that was left in her place was a plume of bitter purple smoke smoke.

The students stood still for a moment, Jackson giving the spot where the witch had disappeared an uneasy look before Claire spoke up and returned to human form.

"Jackson, are you really an Autonomous Weapon?"

He shot her a sheepish smile.

"Nope."

* * *

Roland took a shuddering breath, eyes squeezed shut, shoulders quivering.

_Come on, get up._

He'd never felt so tired. His arms hung at his sides, limp and numb, the occasional finger twitching as his body reeled from the wavelength rejection.

_Pull it together. Get up._

Even his legs refused the call to move and be upright. It was as if his body had simply given up, broken down, become a cage to the mind that willed it to stand and fight.

_Get up!_

Nothing. His burn ached; he couldn't feel the smooth sandstone that scraped against his knuckles. The sound Marcus's screaming engine forced his eyes open to bare witness as the Chainswordsman forced Kyla across the room with unrelenting slashes; carving the floor into a ruddy mess of gravel as the nimble Hoop Meister deflected and avoided his blows.

_They need my help._

His hands weakly clenched into fists, trembling. A shock of blood red hair caught his eye as Alexa darted towards Rafael, slashing at him with her blade arm and a snarl before ducking away from Marcus's gnashing teeth.

_She's still fighting. Her Meister is incapacitated and she's still fighting. _

A deep breath. He planted one foot firmly on the sandstone, pausing in a kneel to catch his breath.

_So tenacious. But I can't let her fight alone._

With a grunt he rose, swaying, unnoticed by any of the combatants. His steps were clumsy, but he walked with purpose towards the Chainswordsman as he bared his razor teeth at a tentative Kyla.

_Because the Weapon is only half the warrior._

He raised his hands over his head, both still balled into tight fists, flooding his wavelength back into the numb appendages. Only then did the Demon Sword notice that her Meister had reentered the fray.

"Roland-!"

Her call fell on deaf ears as Roland brought his fists down on Rafael's shoulders, giving him an unhealthy double dose of his wavelength, forcing him to one knee with a startled cry. Face a snarl Rafael spun, bringing Marcus down over his head.

_Nice going._

Marcus's whirring blade drew ever closer. Roland's conscious scoffed at him as he fell back, putting another half-second between his face and the chainsword.

_At least you won't die like a coward._

The glint of metal out of the corner of his eye. He had glimpsed her soul, if only for a moment. He had reached out and touched it, and she had reached back. But after mere seconds of warmth, her soul had become turbulent, bristling. A tide of resentment had swept the budding resonance away, just as it had the first time they'd attempted the technique, but only now did he consider that he might indeed be it's cause.

_Idiot._

Sparks, the roar of the Chainsword straining against steel.

"ROLAND!"

A blade of steely gray, accented by a lonely line of blood red, denied the Dark Weapon Roland's flesh. The swordsman blinked. Alexa was stooped next to him, weaponized arm raised against Marcus, braced with her human arm at the elbow while her piercing blue eyes sparred with Rafael's mad glare. He snapped at the Demon Sword, grinning.

"Adorable. You're terribly cute when you're-!"

Roland planted two open palms in the Chainswordsman's stomach, throwing him back with another wavelength attack. Alexa shot him a grateful look as they rose, side by side, while Rafael pulled himself upright, shaking off daze of the wavelength attack and revving Marcus's engine.

The swordsman gave his Weapon a quick look. A few beads of sweat clung to the Demon Sword's forehead, each breath evenly timed but bordering raggedness as they passed through gently parted lips. The way she held herself, muscles taught as she swayed on the balls of her feet, hinted at the coiled kinetic potential that turned the length of sharp metal that flowed from her elbow into a weapon.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. She had a certain air of grace about her, despite the fact that they teetered on the cusp of death at the hands of a gentlemanly chainsword wielding maniac. But perhaps they could win. It seemed unreasonable to think that Rafael could really beat all three of them. And with only on good arm to fight with, it would only be a matter of time before he left himself open for something more lethal than a wavelength attack.

_That's right. _The numbness began to abate as newfound confidence flowed into his tired limbs. _We can win._

And with a rasp of plate armor and a resounding metallic voice, defeat was snatched from the jaws of victory.

"Enough Rafael. I have the Eye."

All eyes turned to the Knight as he ducked through the hole in the wall, immense rectangular sword slung over his armored shoulder and inky cape billowing around him as the pieces of sundered stone that Roland and Kyla had stepped over so carefully were nudged aside by his ebony boots. Roland's burn throbbed, his heart sunk as he felt the Knight's invisible eyes settle on him.

"I thought I felt a familiar soul. Tell me…" Roland spied a cloth wrapped bundle hanging at the Knight's waist. "Did you forget the warning I imparted when we last met?" He took a step forward, a motion that made the students tense in fear and anticipation. "Will you force me to act on it?"

Alexa's eyes darted between her Meister and the Knight, pulse beginning to quicken. _He's going to hurt him._ The Knight was approaching now, shrugging his sword from his shoulder. Her mouth went dry. _He's going to hurt him again! _She couldn't let the Knight fight him again, the sight of his bandage wrapped chest still simmered fresh in her mind. She hadn't forgotten the terrible few seconds it'd taken the Knight to tear through them in Ireland. And she feared that if she didn't act, the Knight would make good on his promise.

By the time Roland had a chance to call her name in warning, it was already too late.

Blade arm poised she sprinted across the dozen feet that separated her from the Knight, blue eyes fierce and face a snarl, a cold metal hand wrapped around her throat before she could strike. She didn't even bother to struggle as he lifted her off her feet, glaring at him with unhidden and unflinching loathing as he silently appraised her.

"I am unmoved by your foolish act of courage."

Roland called her name again, moving to aid his Weapon, but with a cackle and a roar Rafael and Marcus put themselves between the swordsman and his blade. With a huff, Alexa spat a sizable glob of spittle onto the Knight's faceplate, which he ignored.

"However, Lady Lila did request that I acquire a Weapon for her construct to resonate with…" He trailed off. With a cry Alexa slashed at his abdomen with her still transformed arm. The blade met the ebony plate with a dull clang, leaving only a faint mark on the obsidian armor. "You'll have to do."

Her body went rigid as the Knight loosed a controlled burst of his wavelength from the hand coiled around her throat, going limp as the attack subsided.

"Rafael, Marcus, it's time for us to depart."

The apprentice and his Weapon retreated to their master's side, leaving Roland and Kyla panting at the other side of the chamber. The Knight passed the unconscious Alexa off to Marcus as he returned to human form, the Chainsword shooting Roland a toothy grin as the Knight scattered a handful of purple powder at their feet.

"Let-" Roland was dashing towards them, eyes steely.

"Her-" He threw himself into a skid, a cloud of sand rising behind him as he drew his fist back. Kyla loped beside him in a crouch, Sonya held across her chest defensively.

"GO!"

The Knight threw down his immense weapon, catching Roland's fist in one hand and Sonya's blade in the other. He let both struggle for a few moments, Sonya screeching helplessly against the metal of his palm and Roland's soul crashing helplessly against his own, before throwing them both back with a painful jolt of his wavelength.

All three of his enemies were sent sprawling, Sonya being forced out of Weapon form with a yelp as her Meister managed to catch herself on her feet, Roland landing with a thud several feet away. The Knight addressed him as he struggled back to his feet.

"Savor the struggle, swordsman. Struggle leads to growth and progress; it is only through struggle that we attain strength. Just as scarred flesh becomes tough and leathery upon healing, should we cross paths again you will meet me with ever greater skill and power until one of us falls. Tell me, what is your name?"

Roland shook himself, shoulders sagging as Sonya staggered to his side to keep him upright.

"Roland. Roland Frey."

The Knight paused for a moment.

"Roland… Frey." Rafael shifted in obvious discomfort at his master's brooding silence.

"Master, Lady Raena will be awaiting our return-" The Knight silenced him with a raised hand.

"Frey. Should you wish to retrieve your Weapon, you will go to the Ivory Tower in the Cradle of the Sun. Come alone."

Rafael bit his lower lip in a display of urgency. "B-but master-"

"Enough Rafael." The Chainswordsman visibly shrunk as the Knight waved a hand over the powder at their feet. "Warp Powder!"

With a flash and a plume of bitter purple smoke, they vanished.

* * *

**A/N:** Wow, I'm terribly sorry, this took _hella _long to update. This is actually quite embarrassing, but I suppose it can't really be helped. Summer jobs and whatnot.

Also, a huge shout out and thank you to all the people who have reviewed, favorited, subscribed, or performed some delicious combination of the three. You're the coal that makes this train roll.

Addendum: Another cliffhanger. If I could find a text-based troll face, I would place it here, but as I cannot, here is a rather half-assed "u mad?" face.

:)

Good day. Review!


	9. Across the Desert

Across the Desert

* * *

"They've arrived Lord Death."

The Shinigami bobbed in response, turning to face his guests alongside his undead subordinate.

"Hey hey hey kids!" There was a grumbled affirmative response. "How'd the mission go?"

Chris stepped forward, a small tear above the sleeve of his dress shirt the only evidence of his fight with Lila. He held a cloth wrapped bundle out to the Death God, which the deity gingerly accepted.

"I don't know what the big deal was." Claire snorted, arms crossed indignantly over her chest. "That thing sure doesn't look very threatening."

"Unfortunately Claire, most Magic Tools don't." Death sighed, peeling the bundle open with more dexterity than seemed possible for his blocky fingers. Everyone in the room, even Isabelle who was resting against Jackson's shoulder for support, leaned forward ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of the strange artifact as the last folds of plain fabric were pulled away.

Nestled in the palm of Death's hand was a single bracer, and unimposing split tube of metal meant to be fastened around a person's forearm by three leather clasps. The Tool had the color of dull brass, and was all but featureless save for a lonely symbol emblazoned on its face.

"Eight? What the hell is 'eight' supposed to mean?" Jackson asked, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

Death chuckled, an act that sent shivers up the spines of his students. "It's not an eight, silly. It's a lemniscate, the symbolic representation of infinite."

"Lord Death, what exactly does this Magic Tool do?" Isabelle inquired, her voice somewhat strained from the pain of her wound.

"Well, it's rather self-explanatory. The Omni-Resonator allows its wearer to resonate with anything."

There was a moment of silence as those present digested this knowledge.

"Anything...?" Jackson began, a hint of mischief in his voice.

"Yup yup yup. Any inanimate object." Death answered, head bobbing.

"That seems..." Claire paused, searching for the correct words. "Kinda silly."

Jackson face palmed, a drop of sweat rolled down the Death God's forehead. "Not exactly Claire it's-"

"It's genius." All eyes turned to Chris as he spoke, a hand poised at his chin. "Think about the versatility that provides. You could improvise a Weapon in almost any situation." Sid nodded in silent agreement. "A rusty spoon, a dull length of metal, anything that isn't bolted to the floor you could wield."

"As useful as the Tool is, I don't see how it alone could really make whatever Raena is building that much more dangerous than it already is." Isabelle muttered thoughtfully.

Sid grunted. "Wait till you hear what the other one does."

"And on that note-!" Death tossed the Magic Tool to Sid, clapping his hands together and spinning to face the tall mirror behind him just as Sonya's face appeared in its face. "How did the mission go Sonya?"

The Demon Hoop blinked, bewildered by the deity's preemptive question, before clearing her throat and speaking.

"We couldn't get the Tool."

Death seemed to slump, breathing something that fell between a sigh and a pout. "Shucks."

"I'm sorry Lord Death, the Knight beat us to it, and there was a rogue Weapon-Meister pair working with him." Her face fell. "We couldn't beat them."

"Well, hey! Don't let it get you down!" Again, Sonya gave the Death God a bewildered look as his chipper attitude rebounded from the news. "Turn that frown, upside down! At least no one was seriously hurt!" The eye holes on his mask smiled in place of his invisible mouth.

"That's true. But...um..." She swallowed. "They took Alexa."

Silence.

"WHAT?" Claire rushed forward, actually shoving Death aside and getting so close to the mirror's face that Sonya recoiled on the other side. "What the HELL do you mean they _took _my sister!"

Sonya shrunk under Claire's dagger-like glare, obviously distraught. "W-we were fighting the rogue Meister when the Knight showed up a-and Alexa just...just attacked him! Alone!" Claire's face continued to redden with anger as Sonya struggled to communicate what had transpired. "He knocked her out, and when we tried to help he vanished! It happened so fast..."

"I knew that Meister of her's was useless." The Demon Gun snarled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Where is that asshole anyway?"

Kyla gently pushed her Weapon out of the mirror's frame, meeting Claire's angry flushed face with an icy stare.

"He went after her."

This time it was Sid who shoved his way to the mirror.

"WHAT?" The dead blue veins on his neck bulged. "He went after them _alone? _And you _let _him?"

"It was out of our hands." Kyla answered, unflinching. Sid spun on his heel, teeth clenched as he made for the exit. The Death God turned, head tilted to the side inquisitively.

"Where are you going Sid?"

"Cairo. Just need to get Nygus first."

"Sid, you can't go to Egypt. We need you for the upcoming battle with Arachnophobia in Alaska." Death reminded, Sid cursing under his breath as Claire tugged at the sleeve of Death's robe.

"Me and Chris could go! We could-"

Death sighed. "I'm afraid we don't have anyone to spare with the operation at the Lost Island so close. We're going to need every able-bodied Weapon/Meister pair we can muster." He place a blocky white hand on the Demon Gun's head.

"It looks like Roland's on his own."

* * *

_Earlier..._

Eyes fixed on the spot where the Knight had stood, Roland sank to his knees, arms limp at his sides. Somewhere to his right Kyla cursed, Sonya fell to her knees beside him.

"Roland..."

He stared ahead blankly, not responding. _Why did she do that?_

"Roland, we have to go." Sonya gently shook him by his shoulders, teal eyes searching his own for some sign of recognition. "We need to tell the others what happened and get help."

_Why did she do that? _The act confounded him utterly. It was completely illogical_. _Didn't she hate him? He had felt the resentment, the accusatory anger pulsing from her soul like some malevolent fount not minutes before. They couldn't resonate, the highest degree of incompatibility_, _and still she had acted without a moment's hesitation.

His eyes fell to his open and unmoving hands, the bandages that crisscrossed his palms singed from the earlier wavelength rejection. _Could I have done the same?_

"Roland, please, are you listening?"

_Why didn't I?_ She'd acted so selflessly, throwing herself against an impossible enemy to protect her Meister from harm, regardless of their disagreements, because she was his Weapon. His partner, and he'd called her a brat.

And now she was gone.

"It was my fault..."

Sonya's eyes quivered at the swordsman's whisper, she cupped his cheek in her hand. "You can't blame yourself. It all happened so fast, there was nothing you could've done."

_Nothing... I could've done._ Would there be a search? A funeral? Would anyone even care? The Kishin had been freed, the world was splitting at the seams_,_ what was one more lost girl? Another nameless body added to the growing heap? _What a waste._

She could've picked anyone, she didn't have the handicap of a selective wavelength. But she'd picked _him_. She'd trusted him to wield her, to make her into a Death Scythe, to _protect _her. And he'd failed.

His chin fell to his chest, tears threatened. _She deserved better._

"We've gotta call this in. Lord Death will know what do to." Kyla said, an edge of finality in her voice as Sonya helped Roland to his feet.

"I..." He began, Kyla turning to face him. His whole body ached, but in his mind it was a poor excuse to avoid the course of action that had to be taken. "I'm going after her."

Kyla's eyebrows furrowed. "Don't be a fool. There's no way we could beat the Knight."

"I know. That's why I'm going alone."

Sonya gaped, eyes wide. Kyla snorted.

"You don't even know where to look."

Roland's eyes hardened as he shrugged off Sonya's helping hands, pulling himself back to his full height.

"The ivory tower in the cradle of the sun. That's where he told me to go if I wanted to get Alexa back."

The Hoop Meister cocked an eyebrow. "And you know where that is?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He snapped, staggering towards the hole in the wall that led back to the hall. "He's referencing a tall white building with the 'ivory tower' bit, and to find it I have to go east, to the 'cradle of the sun'. So I just need to go east until I find a building matching that description."

"Wait!" Sonya caught him by his shoulder, desperation straining her voice. "Last time we fought the Knight, he said he wouldn't hesitate to kill you the next time you met! What if it's a trap?"

She gave a little yelp of surprise when he spun to face her. "You don't understand Sonya!" His eyes had an unfamiliar, almost wild look to them. The Demon Hoop began to recoil, but Roland clamped his hands over her shoulders to prevent her escape. He shook his head, taking a breath before continuing in an even tone. "Without Alexa I can barely fight. I'll just be dead weight, useless. And by the time Shibusen mounts an official search it may already be too late for us to help."

Sonya stared back at him with wide, quivering eyes. With a sigh his voice and grip on her shoulders softened. "I don't have a choice. Alexa's my Weapon, I can't abandon her." The pained look on her face was working serrated daggers into his chest. "You understand... right?"

"I...but..." She stuttered, sniffling for a moment before burying her face in his chest and embracing him fiercely. "Just promise you'll come back."

His expression softened, he wound his arms around her neck and returned the embrace. "I promise."

Kyla rolled her eyes at their tender moment. "You'd better get going. I've got a feeling you've got a lot of desert to cover."

* * *

The Knight swept through airy sandstone hallways, his cloak shifting about his armored form like a restless shadow as torches flickered past. His immense sword hung over his back, firelight dancing along the rectangular blade as it shifted with its bearer's steps. The hall found its terminus in ornate oak double doors that the Knight parted without slowing his step, the servants on the other side unmoved by the sudden intrusion.

The room was dominated by a long mahogany table that sat barely a foot above the ground in oriental style. Plush cushions ringed the table, and reclining in an especially ornate one at the far end of the table was a man clad in a simple brown robe.

"Abraham." The Knight rasped, coming to a halt across from the robed figure.

"You've come." Abraham's deep voice filled the large sandstone chamber effortlessly, and he flashed the Knight a friendly smile before gesturing with a creamy brown hand for the armor-clad figure to sit. "Please friend, sit. It has been far too long."

With the dull clank of metal plates the Knight dropped cross-legged into the nearest cushion. A servant approached, accompanied by the hiss of stone sliding against stone, and offered him a small cup of steaming tea with a carved hand, which he refused with the slightest wave of his hand. The servant bowed its featureless face and retreated as the Knight spoke.

"I'm afraid I have no time for pleasantries Abraham. I've a favor to ask of you."

Abraham turned his open palms to his guest. "Of course. What is it that you need from this old Enchanter?"

"There is a lone Meister, a student from the DWMA, heading east across the desert from the Pyramid of Vengeance." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I want you to intercept him. It is imperative that he reaches the Ivory Tower. Help him do so any way you can."

The Enchanter grunted, raising a hand to his chin. "I suppose the castle could be persuaded to meet your request. It grows restless..." He trailed off, eying the Knight. "How go your efforts?"

There was a moment of silence before the Knight spoke.

"The construct is almost ready. Only a few obstacles remain." His hand suddenly, violently, clenched into a fist. "With the Eye of Vengeance, victory is certain. Our sacrifices will not have been in vain."

Abraham nodded, a hand lifting his cup of tea to his lips. "I hope you are right. You've been drawn down a dark path, friend."

"The end justifies the means Abraham. It is either this or total annihilation! You know this as well as I. And so did the others, but they were weak, bound by their _order_, their _morality._" His twisted soul shifted, like some snarling serpent, and his voice grew cold. "I was willing to abandon those inhibitions."

"And what of Death?" The Enchanter asked over his tea cup.

"He is a blind and short-sighted god. Even if he continues to oppose me, he is bound to his city and must act through his Shibusen underlings, and they will pose little threat to the completed construct."

Abraham cocked an eyebrow. "Do you really believe your _machine_ can defeat Shibusen?"

The Knight shrugged his armored shoulders. "The limits of the Eye's power are known by none, not even Eibon himself. As an unrefined and unstable prototype of the Magic Tool B.R.E.W., the Wizard had no choice but to hide the device away to protect the world from his very creation. But I believe that, with the proper vessel, the Eye's potential is limitless." He waved a hand dismissively. "But, a direct conflict with Shibusen is not part of the plan. They are dry leaves that will be crushed under foot on the path to glory."

The Enchanter placed his cup on the table, steepling his fingers and creasing his eyebrows. A golem servitor bent to refill its creator's cup as he spoke. "And what of the witch? Will she be persuaded to abandon her goals?"

The Knight rose from his cushion. "It matters little. The construct will not obey her, and if she tries to commandeer it I will destroy her."

Abraham smiled sadly. "You've grown cold. But you are right, there is little other choice. Sacrifices must be made." He accepted the newly filled tea cup from his servitor. "My only remaining question, is what will you do if the _others _interfere?"

"What I must, to preserve the cause." The Knight turned, inky cloak billowing about his shoulders.

"I only ask because Madeline contacted me earlier today."

The Knight froze. "What?"

Abraham took a small sip of tea. "Yes, she wants to meet with you. No doubt at the behest of Shinigami, but all the same it would be prudent to oblige her. Perhaps you can secure her support and have her relate our case to Death."

Armored footsteps echoed from the hall leading out of the room.

"We shall see."

* * *

The desert was a rippling sea of gold scintillating under an oppressive sun, besieged by the celestial body's furious heat. The Pyramid of Vengeance, the former resting place of the Eye of Vengeance, poked over the western horizon, its angular pinnacle stabbing at the sky over a foreground of gentle rolling dunes.

A trail of shallow footprints wound west from behind a single, lonely silhouette who stood at the crest of a dune. Sand floated listlessly by on a gentle breeze, and Roland stole a glance at the distant pyramid over his shoulder. His hair was even messier than usual, his shirt rumpled, his tired brown eyes accented by the purple bags that had begun to develop beneath them from a day and a half of ceaseless walking.

The swordsman turned his eyes back to the desert before him, raising a hand to shield them from the sun, pausing to take a few ragged breaths. _What was I thinking? _Boots digging into the loose sand, he descended down the face of the dune, coughing and passing his tongue over his chapped lips upon reaching the bottom.

_I can't believe you actually thought this was a good idea. Walking across the desert, without any real idea of where you're going or how long it's going to take to get there._ Roland started up the next dune, trying to concentrate on his breathing as his conscious continued to scoff at him. _And with no water to boot! You haven't even stopped to rest yet!_

He reached the top of the dune with a groan, bending over to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath. _Who are you? Superman?_

Pulling himself upright, he hissed through clenched teeth. "Shut up. I'm trying to walk here." This earned a guffaw from his conscious. _I'm sorry, was I distracting you? My apologies, putting one foot in front of the other must be quite an involved task._

"Don't you have something better to do? Like, helping me make good decisions, or giving sage advice?" His feet were terribly sore, and Roland figured carrying on a conversation with himself might distract him from the ache. His conscious gave a hollow laugh. _No, I'll leave the decision making to you Mr. Reason. I will, however, constantly chide you and poke holes in your best laid plans. With great gusto I might add. And speaking of which..._

Roland crested another dune, peering at the horizon for a moment before beginning his descent._ What's the deal with Sonya and Alexa? I'm sensing some conflict. _The swordsman groaned, earning another chuckle from his invisible companion. _Oh come on, what better time to hash it out then during an aimless trek across the desert which will most likely result in a slow, painful death, making it impossible to implement any conclusions we come to?_

His brows furrowed, and his consciousness's voice blurred into static, a meaningless bubbling of incoherent background noise. Alexa's recent disposition was a result of his relationship with Sonya, that much was certain, but from then on the waters grew muddy. Was she jealous? It was true that he spent progressively less time with his Weapon as he became more involved with Sonya, and being prohibited from training due to his injuries had whittled their time together to a single morning meal.

A chapped frown formed on his face. Perhaps she felt as if he cared nothing for her beyond her use as his Weapon. In fact, now that he thought about it, they rarely did anything together outside of missions. ___I treat her like a Weapon, but not a friend_. No wonder she's so jealous of Sonya. He would have palmed his forehead at the realization, but he was forced to catch himself with it as he stumbled doggedly up another dune.

A cool breeze greeted him as he reached the dune's peak. A sigh of relief escaped his lips before another frown found its way to his face. The wind carried with it a few, pricking grains of sand, and by the time Roland saw the murky horizon the sandstorm was already upon him. The first stinging buffet almost threw him back the way he had come, but he dug his hands and feet into the loose sand and clung desperately to the shifting mound.

Hunkered down against the side of a dune, shoulders heaving with exhaustion, he noted that the anti-scratch coating on the lenses of his glasses were holding up well against the sand storm's punishment.

But the condition of his glasses had little effect on the reality that was quickly making itself apparent, he was going to die in this desert if he didn't find help soon. If not from sheer exhaustion then from dehydration. He had stopped sweating a half hour before the sandstorm started, and his chapped lips had begun to bleed under the sandstorm's merciless punishment.

Almost as quickly as it had appeared, the sandstorm soon passed. But his weariness did not. His pace did not quicken as the sandstorm moved on, and soon each step was a battle. He raged against his weakness as he fell again to his hands and knees, crawling towards the top of yet another sand dune. Tears threatened, but little water could be spared to express his frustration, leaving his eyes damp but devoid of tears.

He reached the crest of the dune, and for the first time on his journey allowed himself a moment to sit. A bitter laugh tumbled from his dry mouth. Before him stood the hazy silhouette of a castle, with three great towers that reminded him of the rooks from the chess set he had stowed in his closet back in Death City. The faintest wisp of smoke rose from its interior, and two human silhouettes separated themselves from the castle's gate, seeming to glide over the sand towards him. With a grunt he stood, stumbling down the sand dune to reach his rescuers. The last thing he saw before falling into their outstretched arms and into unconsciousness were their flat, featureless clay faces.

* * *

The desert sun was sinking, nodding off as it raged halfheartedly at the scorched landscape. Gently rolling dunes and a brilliant violet sky belied the violence the desert had seen. Countless conflicts, the fates of entire empires had been decided on that baked golden sand. But here, all it took was a gusty day to wipe away the scars of even the grandest battles. It buried the evidence of its bloody history under shifting sands, sweeping the canvas clear for a bloody new masterpiece to be scrawled.

And so, the desert was an ageless and unchanging thing, the timeless narrative of combat played out again and again, without end. Here, in a depression among the endless dunes, history was deigned to repeat itself.

A blot of ink against the golden sand_, _the Knight stood with his great sword held at his side, cape billowing about his shoulders as the blade glimmered in the light of the setting sun. His ebony armor seemed an unearthly shade of utter dark, less black than a space that devoured all color which was at once empty and full, an ominous contradiction that gave his figure an even more terrifying ambiance.

Before him stood his lone adversary. Sandy brown hair tumbled down around her shoulders, framing a lean face with a generous spattering of freckles across her soft nose and beneath two gentle hazel eyes. A white tank-top clung to her slim torso, tan khaki's accented her long legs which ended in nondescript brown suede shoes. The olive green scarf wound around her neck trailed a few feet behind her as it fluttered in the wind, shifting as she shrugged her Weapon from her shoulder and took hold of it with both hands.

"So... I take it you won't be accepting my offer?" The Knight commented casually.

"At first I didn't believe Death. I couldn't bring myself to think that you would betray us. But now..." His opponent shook her head sadly, the pity in her eyes making the Knight's blood run hot. "Now I see. The Madness has taken you."

Hidden by his plate helm, the Knight's face twisted into a fierce snarl. "No Madeline, this is not Madness! My actions are the result of undiluted _reason_. Undiluted by petty emotional trivialities!"

"That's what makes us _human_! You can't just discard morality and have solutions without ethics! " Madeline pleaded.

"No! It is reason that elevates humans above the status of mere beasts! Morality is an imaginary construct built to suit the ruling order, it is a disease that keeps us from reaching our full potential! Morality is the product of _fear_, and so in truth _morality _is _Madness_!" Burying the blade of his sword in the sand, he threw his arms wide, laughing in frustration as if he was explaining something very simple to a child who refused to understand. "Can't you see Madeline? By throwing morality aside, I found the _solution_ no one else would acknowledge! My actions will insure the continuity of the human race!"

Madeline's brows furrowed with anger, she shook her Weapon for emphasis. "How? By putting an object of such power in the hands of _witches_? By attacking DWMA students?" She was desperate now, desperate to reach her oldest friend through his Madness. "By killing innocent people?"

The Knight froze, his laughter ceased."Innocent?" His voice grew cold, taking the chilling quality of intense muted anger. "There is no such thing as innocence." An ebon plated hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, drawing the immense blade from its resting place. "Only degrees of guilt."

"You've left me no choice." Madeline sunk into a low stance, Weapon poised. She wielded a large hammer with an ornate silver shaft, exactly four feet long, with a length of plain purple fabric wound about its midsection to serve as a grip. At its head was a sizable chunk of lavender colored crystal, jagged and elliptical, held in place by dulled band of metal.

"I, Madeline Frey, Three-Star Death Scythe Meister of Western Europe Branch, will claim your soul for Death."

"Then come and take it!" The Knight was a shadowy blur as he charged, whipping sand in all directions as he tore across the golden powder that separated them. "My soul is my own! Not yours, and not Shinigami's!" His blade arced skyward, catching the sun before screaming down towards his enemy. With a crash and a dull boom both fighters disappeared in the resulting cloud of upset sand.

A few moments of strained silence passed as the dust settled.

Madeline had caught the Knight's sword under the head of her hammer, her own head bowed and her hair shrouding her face. The force of the blow had driven her ankle deep in the sand and left a small crater in the ground where the two Weapons had collided, but her simple block held fast nonetheless.

She met his invisible gaze with a furious glare. "Not as easy as fighting children, is it?" With a cry she pulled her hammer out from under the immense blade and whipped its pommel across the Knight's armored face, using the motion of the quick blow to slip past him. Now behind her adversary she swung at his exposed side, the Knight catching her hammer's violet head on the flat of his blade just in time to stop the attack short but being sent skidding across the sand nonetheless.

"You're right." He noted casually, smirk hidden by his helmet. "You're putting up a much better fight than _Roland _did."

She froze. "What?"

"I assumed that you and David would have a child, and that inevitably they'd find their way to Shibusen, but that I'd have the honor of crossing blades with the son of my two oldest friends?" The Knight shrugged. "As Abraham would say, fate moves in strange ways."

"You... you hurt Roland?"

He nodded. "That was implied, wasn't it?"

The Hammer Meister charged, springing at her enemy with hammer held high and gentle eyes suddenly fierce. The lavender crystal that tipped her Weapon dove at the Knight with murderous intent, kicking up a geyser of displaced sand as he deftly deflected the blow with a flourish of his blade. Moving far faster than seemed possible for such a heavily armored combatant he slammed a gloved palm into her stomach, the force of his wavelength attack enough send another cloud of sand into the already dusty air. With a choked cry she grimaced, grabbing onto one of his inky pauldrons for support as she trembled in quiet agony.

"I see time has not sapped your strength." The Knight observed. "But you forget that I too was a Three-Star Death Scythe Meister. And my power has only grown since." Madeline's grip on his armored shoulder tightened, her knuckles turning white as she shook under the punishment of another wavelength attack.

The Knight sighed, suddenly bored. "Well Madeline, if you insist on standing against me, I have no choice but to kill you." In a blur he spun, whipping his heel across her jaw and sending her sprawling. He hefted his sword to his shoulder as Madeline struggled to her feet, swaying and leaning on her hammer for support. "Any last words, old friend?"

The Knight felt an unfamiliar chill crawl up his spine as Madeline's features hardened. She rose, taking a firm grip on her hammer, the faintest hum filling the air.

"You've become a _monster_ Victor." The humming grew louder, the lavender crystal on her hammer began to glow faintly. She spoke softly to her hammer as she saturated it with her wavelength. "Come on Sasha, one for old times sake."

The Knight sunk into a low stance, sword held at the ready. "Your a fool Madeline! You can't resonate with a soul that isn't _there_!" Madeline smiled fiercely at the thinly veiled fear in his voice.

"I don't need to!" An almost deafening hum now filled the air, her hammer's crystal glowed with the blinding inner light of Madeline's furious wavelength. "You forgot Sasha's ability to act as a capacitor for her Meister's wavelength, an ability she's retained despite her current state!" Now a blur herself, Madeline rushed the Knight head on, covering the small distance that separated them in a few livid strides and burying her hammer in his gut before he could react.

"Magnitude: 4!"

The blow lifted him off his feet and split his inky cuirass with a resounding crack, and he remained held aloft for a moment before Madeline smashed her stored wavelength into his body through the hole in his armor and sent him hurtling in the other direction, crashing through the crest of a dune and tumbling to a painful halt just beyond it.

The Knight struggled to his feet, fingers tracing the hole in his armor as Madeline jogged into view, eyes still hard set. "Impressive, you've managed to crack my enchanted armor."

"No armor will protect you from my fury, _Victor_. Your Madness ends here."

"Not yet, I'm afraid there's still work to do." He scattered a handful of purple powder at his feet. "As nostalgic as it's been exchanging blows with you Madeline, I have more pressing business to attend to."

"Warp Powder!"

In a flash of wispy purple smoke he disappeared, leaving Madeline to glare angrily at the spot where he had stood. She spat.

"Coward."

* * *

Roland opened his eyes as cool water was poured over his shoulders. He shuddered with pleasure as it enveloped his parched body, and then looked around. He was in a round tub of water in a brightly lit bathroom, with sandy colored walls that reminded him of adobe.

Then he became aware of his nakedness, and of the equally nude person filling a bucket with the cold water from his bath. Face reddening, he splashed about as he tried to cover himself, apologizing profusely. But when the person looked up at him, he saw that its face was utterly featureless. It set down its bucket and stood, gesturing to a neat stack of folded clothes, which Roland recognized as his own.

It looked much like a mannequin, but made of clay, and before Roland could examine it any further it opened the bathroom door and stepped out.

He blinked. _What?_ Cautiously he left the comfort of the cold bath, standing naked for a moment to air dry in the heat. With a shrug he pulled on his clothes, finding that they had not only been washed but that the countless small cuts from the battle with Rafael had disappeared, with no signs of stitching to be found. Confused, he stepped out of the bathroom and into a well lit adobe corridor, finding the mannequin that had attended him standing at attention in the hall.

It turned its eyeless face towards him and bowed, gesturing with a sweep of its arm down the hall way. Roland was about to thank it when it straightened itself and walked briskly away. Roland followed close behind, and it led him through a maze of corridors before they suddenly emerged through a pair of rich mahogany doors into an impressive chamber. Under a large window was a large table of some dark wood, set low to the ground and surrounded by plush cushions.

At the far end of the table, clad in a simple earth colored robe, sat a man. He was attended by a mannequin identical to the one that had led Roland to the chamber. The man nodded to the mannequins, who both promptly left, and then gestured to the cushions opposite him. Roland took a few unsure steps towards the table before hesitantly sitting cross legged on a cushion, still somewhat dazed by the sudden turn of events. They eyed each other in silence. The man had rich mocha brown skin, and piercing brown eyes. He flashed Roland a warm smile full of brilliant white teeth before speaking, his English heavily accented.

"Welcome to my humble abode, traveler. It is fortunate that you arrived when you did, when my servants brought you here from the desert outside you were teetering on the cusp of death. But you may rest easy now, for you have stumbled upon an oasis in this unforgiving desert."

Roland nodded absentmindedly, still trying to absorb his new surroundings.

"Where am I?"

His host gave a deep, good natured laugh. "Castle Prometheus, approximately forty miles east from the Pyramid of Vengeance."

"Forty miles..." Roland trailed off, leaning forward suddenly. "How long was I unconscious?"

His host nodded to a nearby mannequin, who approached with a cup of steaming tea. "A little longer then a day. You were exhausted, and terribly dehydrated. You're lucky to have recovered so quickly."

The swordsman seemed to deflate. Despite his miraculous rescue, the situation remained bleak. He'd lost an entire day recovering from his rash excursion into the desert, and he was no closer to finding out where Alexa was being kept. _Unless..._

"Thank you for saving me stranger, but there's one last favor I need."

The man reclined slightly in his cushion. "Please, do not hesitate to ask."

Roland hesitated for a moment, carefully phrasing his question. "I'm trying to reach an ivory tower further to the east. Do you know of any buildings matching that description?"

His mysterious host pondered the question, raising a hand to his chin. "Well, I don't know about any towers made of actual ivory, but_.._." Roland caught the slightest smile tug at the man's mouth. "There is the old Ivory Tower Hotel. But I can't imagine why you'd want to go there, it's been abandoned for years."

_That must be it! _Roland leaned forward, eager now. "Really? How far away is it from here?"

"Sixty miles to the east, as the crow flies." He took a sip from his tea cup, steam from the hot liquid curling up around his bald head. Roland's heart sank, but he stood with a look of determination nonetheless.

"Well, I'd better get going then."

The man across from him held up a hand for him to wait, taking another tentative sip from his tea cup before speaking._  
_

"For one who has danced so close to the precipice of death, it seems that plunging back into the desert from whence I pulled your living corpse would be an illogical ambition. What is it that drives you so?"

Roland's glasses caught the light streaming through the great window at the far end of the room, hiding his eyes.

"Something-" He hesitated, correcting himself. "Someone important to me was taken."

His host nodded, frowning. "Ah yes, the bond between a Meister and his Weapon is a powerful thing."

The young Meister paused, giving the man a curious look.

"How did you know I was a Meister?" Roland asked, eyes narrowing.

His host laughed deeply, casually waving off the swordsman's suspicious gaze. "I know a great many things."

Roland eyed his host curiously.

"Who are you exactly?"

His host laughed again. "I am Abraham, Master Enchanter."

The swordsman's eyes brightened with sudden realization as he gave one of the strange mannequin servants an appraising look. "Then all of these servants are-"

"Golems, crafted by my own two hands." Abraham nodded, smiling with pride. "They maintenance the castle and work the garden. No matter the climate, the castle remains completely self sufficient."

"Interesting..." Roland nodded absentmindedly, his thoughts returning to the journey ahead. "Thanks again for your hospitality Abraham, but I really need to go. Time is of the essence."

Again the Enchanter held up a hand for him to wait. "Then you would be wise to accept my help." With a grunt he rose from his cushion, smoothing out his robes. "Come."

Roland cautiously followed Abraham from the room, back down the hall he had come. The swordsman did not believe in coincidences, and this recent turn of events appeared to be a little more than suspicious. It was all too perfect, that rescue should appear _just_ as he grew too tired to continue, and that his rescuer would not only know the exact location of his obscure destination, but also that he was a Meister searching for his Weapon, _and _that he was apparently going to help him find her.

"Golems have a myriad of purposes young Meister." Abraham began, Roland only half-listening. "I have golems that garden, golems that cook, I even have golems that make more golems."

And the fact that his relief should come in the form of an impressive desert castle was the cherry on top of this increasingly suspicious figurative sundae. What were the chances that this castle would be exactly in the direction that the Knight had instructed him to travel? And why was the castle there in the first place? The location didn't seem to hold any importance whatsoever, other than its proximity to the Pyramid of Vengeance. Perhaps God was smiling on him, perhaps this was some twist of fate ushering him towards his destiny.

The only problem was that Roland believed in neither.

Abraham led Roland out into the castle's courtyard, past the orchard of fruit trees and up to a large adobe hut with double doors. "But of all the golems I've created, these are among the most useful."

The Enchanter nodded to two nearby golems, who pulled open the heavy doors. Abraham ushered Roland inside, and made a sweeping gesture to the contents of the structure.

"I call them, Striders."

Roland gaped at the constructs that stood before him. Abraham smiled upon seeing Roland's reaction, and continued.

"Golems have long been valued for a single quality, their inexhaustible stamina. A golem will never tire, must never be fed or watered, and requires little maintenance." He shrugged with a smug smile. "I thought these would be good traits to have in a mode of transport."

Before them stood three golems resembling large flightless birds, each swaying quietly on two nimble avian legs of sandy stone. One of the golems swung its featureless face in their direction, its long articulated neck hissing slightly as it tilted its head inquisitively. Roland felt a chill crawl up his spine, despite their bird-like appearance they had very human looking heads.

Abraham clapped a hand to his shoulder, guiding him towards one of the constructs. "I will let you borrow one of my Striders for your quest. It will know the way to your destination." The Strider knelt and Abraham urged a dazed Roland onto its back, which was carved into the shape of an ornate saddle. "And don't worry about returning it, it'll find its way back once you're done." The Enchanter handed Roland a sizable canteen of water as the golem stood. "Any questions?"

Straddled across the Strider's narrow back, Roland looked to the golem beneath him to the water canteen in his hand, then down at Abraham.

"Quite a coincidence, that while stumbling through the desert I found this castle and in it a man who knew why I was here and was ready to help."

Abraham raised an eyebrow incredulously.

"Fate moves in strange ways. Who knows, perhaps I placed my castle here for the sole reason that one day you would be passing through."

Roland laughed hesitantly, giving the Enchanter one last curious look before the Strider started out of the hut. Abraham leaned against the garage door as the golem carried Roland past his fruit orchard and out the castle's gate, chuckling to himself. One of his servant golems turned its featureless face towards him inquisitively, but he waved it off laughing.

"He thought I was joking."

* * *

_Alexa's eyes darted between her Meister and the Knight, pulse beginning to quicken. __The Knight was approaching now, shrugging his sword from his shoulder. Her mouth went dry. __She couldn't let the Knight fight him again, the sight of his bandage wrapped chest still simmered fresh in her mind. She hadn't forgotten the terrible few seconds it'd taken the Knight to tear through them in Ireland. And she feared that if she didn't act, the Knight would make good on his promise._

_By the time Roland had a chance to call her name in warning, it was already too late._

_Blade arm poised she sprinted across the dozen feet that separated her from the Knight, blue eyes fierce and face a snarl, a cold metal hand wrapped around her throat before she could strike. She didn't even bother to struggle as he lifted her off her feet, glaring at him with unhidden and unflinching loathing as he silently appraised her._

_"I am unmoved by your foolish act of courage." Without so much as a grunt he threw her to the ground, the sandstone loosing its consistency and crumbling at her touch. When she tried to rise the loose sand wound around her arms and legs, binding her to the ground in a vice grip as the Knight glided past. She tried to cry out a warning as he approached her unarmed Meister, but her throat seemed to constrict around her words and strangle them before they could escape her lips. The ground convulsed and she began to sink into the floor, sand rushing past her elbows as the Knight drew back his immense sword. Terror consumed the Demon Sword in sync with the creeping sand, tears stung at her eyes as the Knight's blade flashed through the air. It was only when her Meister's hot blood spattered across her face that her voice returned._

"ROLAND!"

Alexa shot upright, clutching the thin cotton sheet to her heaving chest_. _A few beads of sweat clung to her forehead, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand before burying her face in her palms and trying to level her breathing. _It was just a nightmare. Just a bad dream._

With a whimper she raised her face from her hands and looked around. She was in what appeared to be a luxurious, dimly lit hotel suite, sitting in the middle of a posh queen-sized bed with soft creamy sheets rumpled from her violent awakening. An ornate lotus shaped ceiling fan spun slowly over the bed and on the far side of the room was a sliding glass door, cracked open to let in a slight breeze, that led out to a balcony overlooking the desert. And sitting in a plush armchair next to the balcony door was Rafael, a bemused look on his face.

Alexa gave a little cry, pulling the sheet up to her chest despite the fact that she was still fully clothed. "What the hell! How long have you been sitting there?"

"Long enough to observe that you don't thrash about as much as most people when you have nightmares." He flicked a piece of lint from the cuff of his white blazer. "Instead, you curl into the fetal position and remain quite still, murmuring under your breath and occasionally whimpering." He flashed her a disarming smile. "It's rather endearing."

The Demon Sword shot him an angry look. "Do you really think it's a good idea to piss me off without your Chainsword nearby? I have half a mind to drop kick your chauvinistic, peeping-tom ass off that balcony."

He raised his hands defensively "Now now, no need to get confrontational. That's no way to treat your ticket out of here."

Alexa's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Contrary to what you may believe, I'm not an unreasonable person. My allegiances are... flexible." He made air quotes with his fingers. "While I value the independence being a rogue Meister entails, I have no intention of becoming a pre-Kishin and earning myself a place on Shinigami's list. Marcus, however, has strayed from this path."

"And where does you being my ticket to freedom play into this?"

Rafael sighed. "Quite frankly, Marcus is irrevocably insane, and if I'm to maintain my mercenary life style I'll need a less... mentally compromised partner. That my dear, is where you come in."

She eyed the Chainswordsman incredulously. "You want me to be your Weapon Partner? What about Marcus?"

"Marcus will simply take your place as Raena's guinea pig. The Raven Lady has already agreed to respect the arrangement, all she needs is a Weapon, irregardless of their sanity or lack thereof. You will ride out the remainder of this conflict by my side, the _winning _side, and then when all is said and done you will be free to go you own way."

"I thought you said Marcus was the insane one. I'd never be _your _Weapon Partner, much less let you _touch _me." She spat indignantly, nose crinkling as if the thought of being his Weapon was physically sickening. "I'll take being a witch's guinea pig over being your play thing any day."

"Fool! There's no guaranteeing you'll survive what Raena has in store for you! No one is coming to save you Demon Sword, not Shibusen, and not your Meister." He rose indignantly. "He treats you like an _object_. I would treat you like a _goddess_."

"I'd rather be a rock in the desert than your idol." She huffed, turning her nose up at him. "Now get out of here before I give you the two black eyes you deserve."

His face reddened with anger, but he took a breath and leveled his tone. "Very well, you've made your choice."

Alexa was feeling fairly proud of herself for showing such integrity in the face of temptation. At least they could say she wasn't a traitor, and didn't die a coward. _That's it girl, strength of will._

Her resolve crumbled as a robed figure swept into the room as Rafael stepped out, tipping her beaked hat as she entered.

"What a coincidence." Raena grinned wickedly at the Demon Sword. "This should be more fun than I originally anticipated. Lila!" The leather clad Mongoose witch hobbled past her elder, wheezing heavily.

"Yes Lady Raena?"

The Raven witch clapped her hands together, giving Alexa one last evil look. "Let's begin."

* * *

__A/N- Yay, I got this chapter out before I leave for vacation : ' D

Next chapter: The Construct is revealed?

Review and stuff, for the path is long, and many trolls await.


	10. Tag, You're DEADE

Tag, You're **DEADE**

* * *

Alexa was led down a series of twisting, white washed hallways. An overwhelming sense of dread began well up within her, and she shivered as they descended several flights of stairs. She followed the witch out of the stairwell and into a long passage, at the end of which stood a plain white door. Marcus was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, nodding off on the verge of sleep as Raena approached. He blinked sleepily at her, making no effort to quiet his yawn.

"Everything's good to go."

Raena scowled, ignoring the Dark Weapon. Marcus winked at Alexa, pulling the door open and gesturing for her to enter. But she couldn't move, shivering in place as fear and hopelessness paralyzed her. Raena gave a tired sigh, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry dear, it's really quite friendly." She thought for a moment before shaking her head. "Well, in that emotionless way that machines are."

_A machine?_ The witch patted her on the head.

"Don't get too down on yourself. You and your friends made a valiant, if pointless, effort to stop me." Raena sneered, forcing a little cry from Alexa's lips as she took firm hold of her short scarlet hair. "Sadly, the process should be quite painless if you don't resist. Oh well."

With that Raena shoved Alexa hard, sending her staggering into the dark room. The Demon Sword cried out, turning to run back into the hall, but the door was already closed. She pounded against it with her fists, but the nondescript barrier would not budge.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to stop shaking. _Get a hold of yourself! What would Roland think if he saw you like this, trembling in the dark like a lost kitten! You're a Weapon Alexa, time to start acting like one!_

With a shuddering breath she opened her eyes and turned around. There was a plain wooden chair sitting in the circle of light cast by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. She approached the chair cautiously, trying to see what lay behind the reach of the light, but the dark was impenetrable. Cautiously she settled into the chair, shifting uncomfortably as her mind raced to come to a plan. _Maybe I can attack it when it doesn't expect it. Distract it long enough for me to find a way out._

Something in the darkness shifted. Alexa froze, knowing that her adversary stood just beyond the threshold of light and dark. She looked over her shoulder to see that no one was behind her, but when she turned forwards again she found she was no longer alone in the light.

It had a humanoid, vaguely masculine form. It wore no clothes, but it's entire body was featureless, smooth and nondescript, reminding her of the plastic mannequins that clothes were displayed on in store windows. It looked almost harmless, save for the fact that its toes and fingers tapered into pointed claws. Its entire body was a single solid shade of deep purple, almost black. Alexa sat frozen in her chair, unable to carry out the attack she had just envisioned. It loomed over her, arms limp at its sides. She found her voice.

"What are you?"

There was a low humming noise, like the sound of a printer warming up before use, and the construct spoke in a genderless computerized monotone.

"**Operating System: DEADE.**" It spoke in a halting manner, overemphasizing individual syllables. "**Next query.**"

_It wants me to ask a question?_ Alexa eyed the construct suspiciously. _Well, it can't hurt._

"What does DEADE mean? Is it an acronym?" There was a whirring noise as the machine processed her question.

"**Operating System: DEADE, disambiguation..._" _**A few more seconds of whirring. She wondered where it spoke from, since it had no visible mouth. "**D-E-A-D-E: Density Enhanced Arcane Doom Engine.**" Alexa swallowed hard. _That doesn't sound good._

"**Parameters set.**" It took a step towards her, and as much as she wanted to run she found she couldn't move from the chair. "**Initiating Adaptive Resonance Algorithm.**"**  
**

"Wait!" She cried, holding up a hand for the machine to stop. It complied. _It's worth a shot._ "Cancel Adaptive Resonance Algorithm!" It was the best she could muster, commanding the thing to stop in its own jargon. For a moment it seemed to hesitate, whirring quietly.

"**Request denied.**"

It reached a clawed hand out to her, her eyes widening with fear as it's pointed index finger gently poked her forehead.

"**Establishing uplink.**" The whirring sound returned, and Alexa's vision began to blur. A feeling of lightheadedness quickly overcame the Demon Sword, her breathing becoming shallow as the machine's wavelength brushed against her own. _It has a soul?_

"**Uplink established.**" Alexa sunk into semi-consciousness, DEADE's voice resounding within her skull.

"**Begin.**"

* * *

Alexa shot upright, breathing hard. _What happened? Where's DEADE?_ Stumbling slightly, she stood, looking around. She found herself in a sunbathed grove, its perimeter surrounded by lush trees and brush. Vibrant green grass covered the ground, and in the middle of the grove was a large pond of clear blue water.

The Demon Sword didn't immediately know where she was, but she felt safe. _It's beautiful here._ The surface of the pond rippled, but Alexa was too busy taking in her surroundings to notice. _Is this my soulscape? _She turned to look at the pond, and frowned. Far from the shore, at the center of the pond, was a smudge. It was as if someone had blotted ink onto its surface.

But the ink blot grew, quickly covering the entire pond. Her chest tightened as she rushed to the shore. _What's happening?_ Slowly a shape began to emerge from the pond's center. She gasped as DEADE rose from the water, standing stark still in the inky pool.

"**Uplink: Successful. Soulscape access granted.**"

DEADE waded through the inky water to the shore, Alexa staggering backwards as it approached, the grass around its feet wilting as it made landfall. "**Sensors identify recipient wavelength pattern as: Hostile. Initiate wavelength repression routines.**"

Alexa growled as she changed her forearm into a blade. "Repress this!" _I have to win. If I can't defend my own soul against it, how will we ever be able to beat it on the outside?_ She pushed off the ground, sprinting at it with her blade raised over her head, but it made no move to avoid the blow and Alexa sunk her blade into its shoulder.

They stood for a moment in this manner, and Alexa blinked. _I don't understand, why didn't it try to dodge?_ It whirred for a moment.

"**Activate countermeasures.**"**  
**

DEADE reached up, encircling her throat with its clawed hand and lifting her off her feet. Alexa freed her blade from its shoulder as she struggled against its grip but before she could begin to resist the construct threw her back, sending her tumbling painfully over the grass. She rose to her feet, coughing, in time to see that her attack had left no mark on DEADE's strange body. _Damn._ She took a moment to catch her breath before coming to a realization. _We're in my soul! To some extent I control what's possible here._ Taking a moment to even her breathing, she closed her eyes in concentration. _Time for a little more firepower. _

A grin spread across her face as her other forearm became a sword blade.

"You forgot that this is my soul, so I get home field advantage!"

She charged at the machine, springing at it and slashing with both arms. Her smile widened and she pressed her attack when she saw that it was now actively avoiding and deflecting her blows. _Not so confident now are you?_

It struck her stomach with an open palm, sending her skidding backwards. Alexa shuddered as two more sword blades emerged from her body, each running along one of her shins. She ran at it again, now using slicing kicks in combination with slashes from her arms. DEADE's attacks seemed effortless as it caught one of her shin blades in its forearm and hit her in the center of her chest with a palm strike, once again sending her skidding back.

Alexa coughed, cursing under her breath. _I'm not done yet!_ She hissed as small blades sprouted from her knees and elbows. Again she charged the construct, slashing furiously with the various blades protruding from her body, and again it caught her in the stomach with a palm attack. But this time she was ready for it, sprouting blades from her heels to dig into the ground and keep her from skidding away as she swiped an arm blade across its chest and spun her back to face the machine.

"Get out of my soul!" A dozen blades erupted from her back, skewering the construct like a limp doll and spilling its nameless fluids onto the ground at their feet. They stood tangled in this manner for a moment before she stepped away, her blades disappearing and leaving DEADE's broken frame to stand on its own, twisted and bleeding.

A smile crept onto her face as color and vitality returned to the wilted grass around the invader's feet. _That wasn't so bad._ Then came that dreadful whirring, and the machine spoke.

"**Countermeasures... Activated.**"

Instantly all the plant life in the grove wilted, the pond dried into a cracked husk and the blue sky faded into a murky red. The force of DEADE's wavelength forced Alexa to her knees, hands clamped over her ears in a desperate effort to block out the terrible screeching that filled the air as the machine's injuries disappeared.

"**Wavelength repression operating at target frequencies. Resonance stabilizing.**" Alexa cringed as it took a step towards her, its stomach churning wavelength beating down on her like a merciless rain.

"Please... stop." Alexa whispered, trembling. She was exhausted, mind, body, and soul. Unconsciousness beckoned, and she struggled weakly against its embrace, her determination sputtering like some beleaguered candle. DEADE loomed over her crumpled form, observing, whirring quietly. A menacing, inky silhouette against a bloody sky. Faceless, mechanical, and unfeeling, like some terrible brooding god. Given shape in the squirming brain of a witch and given life in some shadowy foundry, this was the enemy.

This was DEADE.**  
**

* * *

Raena spoke sternly to Rafael and Marcus.

"Now that the procedure is complete, Lila and I will take DEADE back to the keep." She held out the cloth wrapped Eye of Vengeance to the Chainswordsman. "I will return for the Eye once DEADE has been properly stored. Can I count on you two to defend it until our return?"

Rafael nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! Our vigilance shall be unmatched!"

"I'll leave it to you then." Raena rolled her eyes, giving Marcus a cold look as he cleared his throat to speak. "What is it?"

He shifted uncomfortably under the witch's stare. The chainsword might've been insane, but the Raven Lady's gaze was enough to send chills up even his spine.

"What do you want done with the Weapon?"

She waved off his question, turning to go. "We have no more use for her. Do what you like."

Marcus grinned, but Rafael called out to the witch as she began to walk down the hall away from them.

"Lady Raena, if you don't mind me asking, have you heard from the Knight recently?" The witch gave him a curious look. "He disappeared shortly after we captured the Weapon. Do you know where he's been?"

"At the keep. Apparently he was wounded by a Shibusen assassin." Rafael blanched, even Marcus seemed unsettled.

"What? How is that possible?"

"Don't be so naive." She bowed her head, the brim of her hat hiding her face from sight. "The Knight is strong, but he is by no means invincible."

Her robe roiled around her like an angry sea, a chuckle dancing across the walls as she slipped inexplicably out of sight.

"A reality that I fear escapes him."

* * *

Isabelle found some twisted satisfaction in watching the Arachnophobia foot soldier squirm at the other end of her axe, Jackson's blade buried somewhere in the masked man's guts. With a quick kick to his chest she pulled Jackson free, leaving the mortally wounded man to flounder in the snow while she swept the legs out from another, dropping another maimed body onto the quickly reddening powder. Her Weapon's shouted advice and warnings went unheard as she sunk deeper into her stupor, each move dictated only by violent instinct as she carved a path of carnage across the icy battlefield.

The Shibusen landing force had marched inland almost unopposed upon disembarking from their transports, Sid's column of Shibusen operatives and DWMA students weaving lazily through the hilly landscape while Stein's strike team made a beeline for the magnetic field at the heart of the Alaskan island. Arachnophobia's ambush, while fully anticipated, had been fierce and decisive. With the column shattered Shibusen's forces found themselves in disarray, fighting scattered skirmishes across the snowy landscape.

Chris and Kyla had been with her earlier, but Isabelle had lost track of them as the fighting intensified. Friendly faces became rarer and rarer as the Axe Meister continued her bloody march through the snow in search of enemies.

Luckily for her, a lone teenage girl made a pretty inviting target for marauding bands of Arachnophobia soldiers.

Another masked fighter crumpled before her, missing an arm and leg, before his body vanished and left a faintly glowing red orb in its wake. The severed limbs however, remained, adding two more gory reminders of her prowess in the snow. She stood for a moment, panting, trying to gain her bearings in the unfamiliar landscape when she spied a stone tower peeking over a nearby hill. The problem was, the tower was moving.

Eyes narrowing she adjusted her grip on Jackson, starting up the hill in a crouch. There had been rumors that Arachnophobia had deployed golems created and operated by mercenary enchanters, but Isabelle hadn't expected to come face to face with one of the hulking constructs. To any rational person facing a golem alone was folly, but Isabelle was in a less than rational state.

At the crest of the hill the golem came into full view. Its cylindrical body was supported by two comically short legs, arms thicker than redwood trees dragging stone knuckles through the snow. Its windswept face hung almost thirty feet in the air, the twisted caricature of a laughing skull, but the earthen groan of its straining limbs was the only noise forthcoming. The golem was accompanied by an entourage of four Arachnophobia footmen in tight formation, one in front, in back, and one on each side. It was the ideal layout for defending the golem against crippling attacks to its diminutive legs, the most logical tactic for downing the formidable machine.

But again, logical actions were not among Isabelle's virtues when violence was upon her.

Silhouetted against the blazing northern sun, Isabelle hefted Jackson over her head and bellowed a roar of challenge to the lumbering golem. Her bun had come apart at some forgotten moment in the fighting, so her shoulder length blonde hair flowed freely on a breeze that smelt of blood and sweat. Her amber eyes blazed with unbridled anger, the blood that wept freely from a cut on her forehead completing her fierce visage. She seemed completely at home amongst the carnage, the very avatar of savagery.

The golem ground to a halt, facing its challenger with hands clenched into fists the size of Volkswagen Beetles while its escorts readied their weapons. But it was too late, for Isabelle was already airborne with Jackson drawn back to strike.

"Fimbulvinter!" Weapon and Meister cried out in unison, the golem sending a punch rocketing towards them in vain as Jackson's empowered blade split the tempered stone. Its escorts could only stand aghast as their charge crumbled under the single sundering blow, ice and shattered stone raining down about their heads as the golem collapsed into an amorphous heap.

Isabelle tried to free Jackson from the rubble as the vengeful soldiers approached, but he was thoroughly embedded in an ice sheathed chunk of golem giblet. So she turned and sucker punched the nearest soldier in the gut, doubling him over in time to crack his mask with a knee to the face. The first soldier crumpled with blood seeping from the cracks in his face plate as another leapt at Isabelle with a machete only to have his shoulder painfully dislocated in a bloodied black blur. The third hesitated just long enough for her to take firm hold of a sizable chunk of golem wreckage and whip it across his face, shattering his mask and spraying blood across the snow. She raised the rock over her to strike again but his last unhurt companion swept in from the side and tackled her to the ground. His hands groped at her throat to no avail as she kneed him in the stomach and forced him onto his back, straddling his chest as her partner returned to human form and engaged the other three wounded footmen with one of his half moon axe blades running along his forearm.

The soldier beneath Isabelle squirmed in vain as she pulled away his spider mask, bloodying his nose with the first punch. Her aimless, withering anger found expression in her fists as they became slick with that familiar red fluid, the fleshy resistance that met her knuckles only goading more violence from her tired limbs. Choked cries for mercy became pained gurgles and then silence, but it wasn't until Jackson pulled his Meister off the corpse that peace once again found the snowy grotto.

When clarity returned to Isabelle's thoughts she found herself pinned against the icy ground with Jackson straddling her waist, fear evident as he breathed words of comfort.

"That's enough Isabelle, that's enough."

Blood caked her face and hands, stiffening fingers already numb from the cold as she tried to lever herself upright. But Jackson wouldn't let her budge.

"Let me up, we have to go help..." She muttered weakly, her strength gone with her anger, leaving her feeling hollow and spent.

"No." Isabelle blinked at his forceful tone, searching his face for an explanation. She huffed, trying again to sit upright to no avail as Jackson took hold of her shoulders and held her firmly against the snow.

"What's your problem Jackson!" She tried to sound indignant, with little effect.

"What's _my_ problem?" He spat with a frustrated look. "What were you doing out there Isabelle?" His Meister averted her amber eyes as the scolding continued. "Going off alone in the middle of the battle? Going after a golem, _alone_! Are you trying to get yourself killed?" She scowled up at him. "You can't keep doing this, you're out of control-!"

The Demon Axe's eyes widened in abject terror as she silenced him with a kiss, darting up to find his lips with her's before another word could escape them. Jackson's stomach did a somersault, his face reddening with heat despite the biting cold. He became acutely aware of the precious few inches that separated their bodies, the way her golden hair fanned out in the snow, and the numbing warmth that blurred the line between his mouth and her's.

A full three seconds passed in this manner before Jackson broke the kiss, scrambling desperately backwards as if he half expected Isabelle to unhinge her jaw and swallow him whole like a thirty foot long anaconda. Instead Isabelle stood, brushing the snow from her backside with little ceremony and looking skyward at the smokey Shinigami skull that floated on the breeze.

"There's the retreat signal. We should get back to the boats." Her professional demeanor had returned, and when her eyes settled on Jackson he couldn't find even the slightest trace of a blush on her cheeks. "You coming?"

"What?" He asked, dumbfounded. Jackson couldn't believe it. She was literally acting like nothing had happened.

There was a hint of annoyance in her retort. "Did I stutter?"

Jackson opened his mouth to argue, but her cold stare quenched his will to fight. He rose with a resigned sigh.

"I'm coming."

* * *

Heat suffocated the desert like some heavy wool blanket, unwelcome weight on Roland's shoulders as the Strider jaunted across gently undulating dunes, its talons leaving Y shaped imprints in the powder behind them. The swordsman squinted at the gleaming white rectangle that poked into sight while the Strider twisted its articulated neck to face it, the rhythmic beat of its feet against the sand pausing as it adjusted its course slightly. The golem slowed to a smooth stop, Roland craning his head back to scrutinize the imposing building.

The Ivory Tower Hotel's modest six stories were exaggerated by the emptiness of the surrounding landscape. A low cream colored wall encircled a sun stained plaza with a decrepit and empty fountain, the faces of its little winged cherubs worn smooth by the desert's windy lash. Once well kept hedges were now withered fences of bramble, neglected by tenders long absent. Spiraling mosaic patterns wreathed the tower's grand entrance of gilded glass, missing tiles rendering whatever narrative the mural told incomplete. The building itself had a sort of battered elegance, the scarred edifices and balconies suggested that it had once been a jewel of the desert, an oasis, a paradise.

A paradise lost. The paved road that ran north and south from the rusted iron gate disappeared into the sand not a hundred feet from its origin, leaving the hotel an island with its bridges to the land beyond the desert sea buried under that same devouring golden powder.

The circumstances that had led him there seemed beyond coincidence, they practically stunk of intervention. He assumed that the Knight was somehow responsible, but the presence of Castle Prometheus cast doubt on even that. _To have set that up, he would've had to move the castle. Or have built it there over night._

But there was no time for pondering now, for movement in one of the top floor windows was accompanied by a familiar spatter of scarlet. It was only there for a second but Roland seen what he needed. Urging his mount forward the golem planted a three toed talon atop the wall and levered itself over the decorative barricade, paying no mind to the open gate only a few feet away. The swordsman halted the Strider some distance away from entrance as he considered with the possibility of guards. Fighting his way though six floors of guards unarmed didn't seem like a very logical thing to do, but then again the entire misadventure across the desert had been rather unintelligent in the first place. At this point, Roland was more than willing to redeem himself with a little out-of-the-box thinking.

The evenly spaced balconies marching up the sides of the hotel offered an interesting possibility of reaching Alexa's room without actually entering the building, but with only the clothes on his back and the water canteen given to him by Abraham scaling the side of the building seemed an impossible feat. Perhaps he could somehow access the ventilation system from an outside duct, or sneak in through a service entrance. Perhaps the Strider could be utilized to create a diversion of some sort, allowing him to slip inside unnoticed. _Or perhaps..._

"Hey." Roland gave the golem a pat, and it twisted its articulated neck to look back at him. He gestured to the sixth floor window where he thought he'd seen Alexa. "Do you think you could get me up there?"

To the golem it was less a question then a command. Without so much as a squawk the nimble stone bird rushed forward, springing to the overhang just above the hotel entrance with piteously little effort. After taking a moment to consider its next move the Strider crouched and leapt straight up nearly ten feet, catching the edge of a nearby balcony with one of its talons and levering itself onto the cramped ledge. Roland clung desperately to the golem's neck as it scrambled from balcony to balcony in this manner, more than once coming within a hairsbreadth of losing its grip on the derelict platforms.

Despite many close calls, after less than a minute of jaunty climbing the swordsman staggered from the back of the kneeling Strider to steady himself against the railing of Alexa's balcony. The golem received a look that was somewhere between aghast and impressed. "Abraham sure knows how to make a golem."

His compliment ignored by the suddenly passive bird, Roland stole a glance into the room through the sliding glass door. It seemed remarkably well kept in contrast with the hotel's exterior, a plush and luxurious suite if he ever saw one. Seeing no one he eased the door open just enough for him to slip through sideways, eyes roaming for any sign of the guards he expected to burst from unseen crannies at any moment. But the room's only inhabitant was curled into the fetal position on the grandiose bed that dominated the wall opposite the balcony, her short blood red hair standing out against the creamy sheets that were wound tight around her body. He crossed to the bed, shaking Alexa's shoulders and hissing into her ear with barely restrained urgency.

"Wake up Alexa, it's time to go!" But his Weapon barely stirred, pulling the sheets closer and mumbling incoherently under her breath. "Alexa?" Again, no, response.

Roland cursed quietly as he checked the bar of light underneath the door for any sign of disturbance. The fact that his partner was still alive would have to do for now, her apparently comatose condition could be dealt with back at the DWMA. He wrestled the sheets from the Demon Sword's grasp and scooped her limp form into his arms bridal style, nudging the sliding door open with his foot before stepping out onto the balcony where the Strider still waited. Setting Alexa down gently against the wall, he removed his leather belt and buckled it around the base of the Strider's neck to serve as a much needed hand hold. After propping her up in the golem's carved saddle he sat down behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist while his other hand took hold of the Strider's makeshift collar in a death grip.

"All right." He muttered, hugging the golem's body with his legs. "Ground floor please."

It became quickly apparent just how fortunate it was that Alexa was unconscious during their descent. The Strider, taking the path of least resistance, opted for a six story free fall to the courtyard below. The result of this venture was, as one might guess, less than ideal. Though the golem succeeded in landing on its feet the heavy stone talons punched almost two feet into the courtyard's ornately tiled drive way, rooting it in place and fouling its landing. Unable to properly absorb the shock from the impact with its feet immobilized, the Strider gave a single violent convulsion that threw its two passengers from its back as it fell into a crumpled heap. Roland managed to pull Alexa to his chest as his back met worn tile, skidding to a painful stop several feet away from his incapacitated steed.

He lay there admiring the sky between stinging breaths. _Well, that could've been worse. _Alexa curled up beside him, clutching helplessly at his shirt with her eyes squeezed shut, a troubled look clouding her features. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as she twisted with a whimper to rest her head above his heart, murmuring for a moment before falling silent. A twinge of guilt played through the valves of his still beating heart. _Hold on Alexa, I'm gonna get you out of here_.

"My, you are tenacious." Roland was up in a second, crouched protectively over his incapacitated Weapon. Rafael and Marcus stood side by side, framed by the hotel's faded entry. Dried blood stained the shoulder of Rafael's white blazer, and a cloth wrapped bundle hung at his waist. "I must commend your determination, a shame that your journey should end in failure."

In a flash of dark red Marcus disappeared, Rafael leveling his partner at the crouching swordsman. "Come on Raf, let's make this quick!" He flashed a malicious grin from his reflection in the teeth of his chainsword form. "I wanna see what kind of fun we can have with his partner."

Roland rose slowly, glare from the furious sun hiding his eyes behind his glasses. "You're going to regret letting me hear that." He hissed, the knuckles of his clenched hands white.

The weary boy's soul stirred, flowing into his tightening fists as Rafael gave Marcus's ripcord a forceful tug. The Dark Weapon's engine roared to life, Marcus's cackle carrying over the grumbling machine. "Come at me four-eyes! We just brought a chainsaw to a fist fight!"

The swordsman had struck Rafael as an analytical, intelligent person. So his bafflement at Roland's unwavering charge was understandable. Lashing at the ground in front of him he showered Roland with a hail of stone chips, thrusting Marcus through the dust without another moment's hesitation. The rounded tip caught Roland in the shoulder, and he clamped both hands against the flat of the blade to stop Marcus's gnashing teeth from gaining further purchase. But Rafael had all the purchase he needed, and with a demur grin gave Marcus's trigger a forceful squeeze.

Shreds of olive green cloth and blood were thrown against the faded tile of the courtyard as the chainsword's teeth carved greedily at Roland's shoulder, eliciting an unadulterated cry of pain from his chapped lips. He didn't dare let his grip on Marcus slip for fear of loosing his arm to the bladed chain, so with a roar he smashed his wavelength into the Dark Weapon through the palms of his hands.

Marcus's mad laughter quickly became shouted curses at the sting of Roland's wavelength, and when Rafael tried to pull his Weapon back he found that Roland's grip would not be so easily negotiated. With a quick kick to the solar plexus he succeeded in sending Roland staggering back to where his Weapon still lay unconscious.

Roland dropped to one knee and shook Alexa by the shoulders. "Alexa, you need to wake up!" Rafael was approaching now, revving Marcus for ominous effect. "Alexa I need your help!" He stole a look over his shoulder as the chainswordsman closed the distance between them, savoring his seemingly inevitable victory. Roland's blood cooled, his face set with determination. He had not crossed a hundred miles of desert, almost died of dehydration, and scaled the side of a six-story tall abandoned hotel to die now.

"Alexa!" He took firm hold of her shoulders, scowling down at her. "Wake-" Her body went rigid as he bombarded her with his wavelength. "-UP!"

Clear blue eyes snapped open just as Roland scooped his Weapon up and leapt out of Marcus's way as he pulverized the ground where they had just rested. Alexa gasped as if she was taking her first breath in a hundred years, clutching desperately at Roland's bloody shirt as he dodged another attack.

Her eyes quivered at the sight of her Meister's gruesome wound. "Roland, you're-"

"Not now! Transform!"

She obliged, taking her weapon form in his outstretched right hand. _He came! _Warmth welled up from somewhere within her as their wavelengths brushed against each other without the sting of rejection. _He came for me. He cares._

Now with a blade of his own, Roland went on the offensive. They battled back and forth across the courtyard for a few livid seconds but it quickly became obvious that Rafael had the advantage of being rested, while Roland had barely recovered from his journey across the desert. Alexa's heart beat fast as Roland began to falter. _No! _She tried to buoy his strength with her own, but against Rafael's vicious attacks her embattled Meister continued to lose ground.

"Roland!" She called, her face reflecting in her blade. "Follow my lead!"

The swordsman grunted affirmation, and Alexa's soul rose to meet his. She shivered involuntarily as their wavelengths began to mesh, whimpering as they enveloped one another in a spiritual embrace. A fierce grin played across her face as electricity skittered across her blade. _See Roland? See what we can do? _

Rafael forced Roland to one knee with a pommel strike, pulling his chainsword back for one final strike.

"Soul Resonance!" Roland and Alexa cried out in unison, the Demon Sword glowing blinding white as Marcus screamed towards them.

"Storm-Blade Cestus!"

Sparks rained down on the scarred tile as Marcus's teeth screeched helplessly across Alexa's new form, Rafael sent reeling back as Roland knocked the Dark Weapon aside and stood.

Alexa's claymore form was nowhere to be seen. Instead Roland's right arm, starting just below the elbow, was completely encased in a large onyx black cestus forged into the smooth shape of a wolf's head. A lining of fur, the same bloody scarlet as Alexa's hair, was visible where Roland's arm disappeared into the hefty gauntlet.

A smile tugged at the corner of Roland's mouth as he rolled his shoulders, testing the weight of Alexa's empowered form. "This, is more like it."

He was at Rafael almost too fast for the chainswordsman to react, blocking Marcus with his cestus before sending a fist into Rafael's gut with a stinging wavelength attack. Without missing a beat he pushed Marcus aside and snapped Rafael's head back with a brutal uppercut, the metal wolf's muzzle connecting with his chin and sending him flying back.

Rafael struggled to his feet, dazed, gently fingering his bruised jaw.

"Roland! What are you doing?" The swordsman looked down to find that one of the wolf cestus's eyes had opened, Alexa's own fierce blue eye twisting in the socket to look at him. "I'm a Demon Sword, not a boxing glove!"

"Umm..." Roland took a moment to examine Alexa's new form, brows furrowed with puzzlement. "Where's your blade?"

"You idiot! It's... well it's right..." Alexa's visible eye darted back and forth for a moment, Roland stifling a chuckle as she glared at him. "Oh shut up! This is new to me too!" The Demon Sword's eyes suddenly seemed to brighten. "Wait, here it is!"

Alexa's wolf jaw hinged open slightly, and with a hiss a silver edged, steely gray blade emerged from the bowels of the cestus. It was almost identical to her normal blade, but longer and broader, and the deep red line that ran down its center was bent into the shape of a lightning bolt midway down the blade. Little ribbons of electricity danced across its surface, filling the air with the occasional crackle and pop. Now it was Alexa's turn to laugh. "Now, that's more like it."

They turned their eyes to Rafael, who stood pale faced and swaying a dozen feet away. "Alexa, I think that package on his belt is the Eye of Vengeance."

"We might salvage this mission yet." He could hear a mischievous grin in her voice. "Remember that paralysis thing we did in the pyramid?"

With no further coaxing he was off at a dead run, keeping low to the ground with Alexa trailing behind him. Rafael sunk into a defensive stance with Marcus braced against his hand, blocking the rising slash that split the tile at their feet and blackened the stone with probing rivulets of electricity. Taking a single quick step back Roland whipped Alexa towards the chainswordsman in a backhanded strike that singed the cuffs of his white sports coat black as energy jumped from Alexa's blade and crawled along Marcus's teeth to his Meister's naked hands. Gritting his teeth against electrical burns forming on his knuckles he drew his Weapon back to strike again, but Alexa's blade disappeared back into her shadowy maw with a hiss and Marcus's chain tore up sand stained tile as the blow missed utterly.

Stepping past the chainswordsman Roland whipped Alexa across his back, her blade reemerging and drawing a bright red line from one shoulder to the other, oozing scarlet staining Rafael's white coat like a crooked smile. But it was the unseen deluge of electricity that flooded in through his wound that dropped him to his knees, muscles clenching spasmodically as the nerves around the wound misfired at the disturbance.

It was when Rafael was incapacitated in this manner that Roland reached down and casually plucked the wrapped bundle from the blonde's belt, thumbing aside the cloth to reveal a gilded hexagonal plate of untarnished turquoise with a stylized Egyptian eye emblazoned on its face. Tossing the Magic Tool's linen trappings aside Roland slipped the Eye of Vengeance into his pant pocket, paying little mind to the still twitching Rafael as he made for the rusted iron gate.

"We're done here." The swordsman muttered. Alexa returned to her human form beside him, beaming.

"I guess it all worked out in the-"

"Now wait just a minute!" They spun to find that Rafael had risen yet again, holding Marcus loosely with one hand as an insane smile stretched across the rogue Meister's handsome face. "You're not the only ones with a Resonance technique!"

His laughter was quickly drowned out by the scream of Marcus's engine, their souls ballooning in unison and whipping up a flurry of dust. Roland and Alexa tensed, but their worry quickly proved unwarranted.

"Soul Reso-!" The two were silenced as the Strider burst from its entrapped position, reaching Rafael in a single step before whipping its head around like a ball and chain, burying its face in the Meister's gut and sending him crashing through the Ivory Tower Hotel's tasteful glass doors with all the grace of a wet rag.

When he didn't reemerge the golem turned back to Roland and Alexa, loping over to the pair and kneeling. Roland climbed aboard without hesitation, reaching a hand down to help the dazed Alexa onto the Strider's back.

"Where'd you get this thing?"

She raised an eyebrow at his dry laugh. "It's a long story. Believe me."

The Strider's lurching step forced Alexa's arms around her Meister's waist, the horizon reflected in her clear blue eyes.

"Where are we going?"

To Roland's quiet relief the avian golem passed through the open gate instead of vaulting over the wall.

"Home."

* * *

**A/N: **Dang, a lot of stuff went down this chapter. So glad I managed to get another one done before school starts.

: ' D

Anyway, reviews are awesome.


	11. The Gift of Foreboding

The Gift of Foreboding

* * *

It's strange how quickly life seems to return to normal after events of great magnitude.

The afternoon sun streamed in through the windows at the back of the classroom, taunting its inhabitants with tantalizing warmth. In the second row was Maka, ever the diligent student, who was listening with rapt attention while to her left Soul dozed with eyes half-lidded, the epitome of disinterest. Black*Star grinned maniacally from the row behind them, barely stifling his chuckles as he drew a crude depiction of Excalibur with his snout caught in a bear-trap. Tsubaki looked on with the slightest smile, silently rejoicing that her Meister had found a quiet way to entertain himself. Down in the front row was Patty, happily constructing an origami giraffe, while a seat away Liz was hard at work painting her nails. Between them sat Kid, whose eye twitched as he tried to will the twenty-three on Sid's jersey to twist into an eighty-eight with little success.

Roland quietly surveyed the scene from his seat in the third row, hands behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. Despite his relaxed posture he was really quite uncomfortable. His right arm was still numb from the local anesthetic Nygus had used when she'd stitched up the gash Marcus had left him with as a reminder of their duel at the Ivory Tower Hotel. Nygus had jokingly chided him that if he made any more visits to the Dispensary he would end up looking like her, and with his entire chest bound in white bandages he was already on the right track.

But it looked like he wasn't the only one who'd made a recent trip to the Dispensary. One row down and several seats to the left sat Isabelle, with a bandage wound around her forehead, no doubt a trophy from the Battle for BREW. Jackson slouched next to her, eyes glazed over, aloof and disheveled. Some distance away from them sat Kyla, her clothes and dark blue hair pristine as always, looking almost smug in her recently acquired tan.

Beside her Sonya was fussing with a small piece of paper. Roland watched with a curious look as she folded it and passed it to Ox who, upon giving the paper a once over, passed it on to his partner Harvar. The note continued down the row in this fashion and eventually found its way to Kim, who leaned back in her seat to deposit it on Roland's desk with a smirk.

"Special Delivery."

Alexa gave her partner a curious look as he thumbed the folded paper open. He read it once and stole a glance at Sonya, who was nervously fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt, before again turning his eyes to the neat script.

_Roland-_

_ Find me after class._

_ -Sonya_

Note still pinched between his fingers, Roland returned his hands to their place behind his head. Though message was cryptic in its simplicity alone, it was the fact that he'd received it in the first place that piqued his interest. Sonya wasn't one to make advances. But before he could ponder this recent development any further Sid clapped his hands together and turned to face the class.

"And that's why I always bring morphine and a fire-extinguisher to faculty meetings." Crossing his arms over his chest he cast a punitive glance at his audience, daring a response. "Any questions?" At the stunned silence that followed he smiled. "Good. Class dismissed."

Roland lost sight of Sonya in the crush of students that carried him out of the classroom and into the hall. He stood for a moment, lost, before he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. It was Alexa.

"Hey, I need to get a book from the library. Wanna tag along?" Her hopeful look made him grimace.

"Sorry, I have to go find Sonya."

"Oh." Her eyes fell. "Well, okay. I guess I'll see you later then?"

He offered her a reassuring smile. "Count on it."

The swordsman sighed as his blade moved off down the hall, waving half-heartedly over her shoulder. _Not the best note to start the evening on. _Turning his attention back to the matter at hand he scanned the crowded hallway for Sonya, catching a glimpse of her at the far end of the hall. But as he approached she slipped around the corner and out of sight.

"Sonya?" He reached the spot where she'd stood. "Where'd you go?"

Stepping around the bend in the hall Roland saw the Demon Hoop walking briskly in the opposite direction, wavy brown hair bobbing with every step.

"Sonya! Over here!" To his surprise, Sonya broke into a run, the sound of tennis shoes slapping the floor her only response to Roland's call. "Hey, wait up!"

He started after her, running to catch up as the brunette tore down the hall and darted into an adjacent passage. The motion of his arms as he ran was pulling uncomfortably at his stitches, the countless bandages wrapped around his scarred torso felt as if they were restricting his breathing. _Great day for a run, don't you think? _His conscious chirped, eliciting a haggard groan from the swordsman. _Girls can be such drama queens some times._

They wound aimlessly through the innumerable hallways of the academy, Sonya holding the barest lead on the battered Meister. Oblivious to the inquisitive and angry looks they received from both students and faculty the pursuit continued unabated. But soon the crowds in the hall began to thin and the two were left to the chase, their ragged breaths and piercing footfalls resounding in the well-lit corridors.

Then, suddenly and without warning, Sonya stopped running and ducked into an alcove along the wall. Roland slowed, his run becoming a jog and then a walk as he approached the Demon Hoop's hiding place.

Sonya stood towards the back of the alcove, panting with her arms swaying limply at her sides, beads of sweat clinging to her forehead. Her gaze followed the swordsman with uncharacteristic intensity as he approached, speaking between breaths.

"What was all that for?" As if his voice had suddenly snapped her from a dream her eyes fled from his and found their place at her feet, her cheeks taking on a familiar tint.

"I… I just wanted to know."

He placed a hand on her arm. "Know what?" Something in his gut tightened when she looked back up at him.

"If you'd come after me too."

Teal eyes half-lidded, Sonya stood on her tip-toes to wind her arms around his neck. Caramel eyes widened in shock but a hand found its place at the small of her back, almost by instinct, as Roland drew her close and dipped his face to hers. The Demon Hoop's sweet breath caressed his face for only a moment before he sealed her mouth with his. She whimpered into his lips, their pulses dancing wildly against each other through the skin that separated them.

The ache of his wounds seemed distant. So too did the sound of a closing door and approaching footsteps. The intruder probably would've passed them by without a glance if it weren't for a muffled moan from Sonya, which stopped them dead in their tracks.

"Roland?" The pair separated, hearts dropping in synch as they turned.

There stood Alexa, face almost as red as her hair, a hard-cover copy of _The Terror _hanging from her hand. Only then did Roland realize that they were barely ten feet from the open double-doors that led into the Library. _Smooth._

Alexa swallowed, giving a sheepish laugh as she turned her eyes to the ground. "Sorry to interrupt." And before another word could be spoken she was gone, leaving only an awkward silence in her wake.

Sonya pressed her forehead to Roland's chest, mumbling into his shirt. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." He pushed her gently away, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

"I still feel bad about it though." She gave him an earnest look. "Go be with her. I've had enough of you for today."

He smiled and planted a soft kiss on the top of her head.

"Thank you."

* * *

"Well, this sucks."

Spirit and Death were sitting on cushions at either end of the Shinigami's tea table, which bore a striking resemblance to his mask. Little wisps of steam curled up from their tea cups while one of the Death Room's many stylized clouds crept along near the table's edge. Death's mirror towered over them, commanding an imposing view of the proceedings.

The masked deity gave his Weapon a curious look. "How's that?"

"Let's see…" The Death Scythe leaned back on his hands, staring at the sky-blue ceiling.

"The Kishin Asura has been released, and we have no idea where he is. Arachne beat us at the Lost Island and has BREW, so now Arachnophobia is harassing our regional bases in Africa and Eastern Europe." Death quietly sipped his tea as Spirit continued his rant, voice rising in volume. "Stein has gone not only insane, but AWOL, and kidnapped Marie! The Death Scythes in charge of South America and Africa have yet to return our calls, and as if that wasn't enough-!" He hiccupped, his eyes glimmering with tears. "Maka still hates me!"

Death gave a little sigh as Spirit collapsed into hysterical sobs, setting his tea cup back on its dish with blocky white hands that were much more dexterous than would seem possible. "While that might be the case, you're only looking at part of the picture."

"W-what do you mean?" Spirit asked, raising his head to drag his sleeve across his runny nose.

"It's true that, for the time being, Arachnophobia holds the upper hand and Asura still eludes us. But Raena's efforts to complete her war machine have been hamstringed by the successful capture of the Omni-Resonator and the Eye of Vengeance. Roland and his friends are all proving to be quite capable."

The Death Scythe huffed a sigh. "I guess."

"Oh stop being such a sour-puss Spirit!" The Weapon in question groaned and fell onto his back with a muffled thud as the Death God continued. "Anyway, I'm glad that Roland and Alexa managed to work things out and discover their Resonance Technique."

"Don't you think it's strange that Alexa's Resonance Technique is so similar to her older sister's?" Spirit asked, following a puffy white cloud across the ceiling with a dull look.

"It's not uncommon for siblings to share similar Resonance Techniques. But most of the time they also have identical Weapon forms, such as Liz and Patty. This is obviously not the case with Alexa and Claire." Death shrugged. "Who knows? I sure won't be losing any sleep over it."

A comfortable silence followed, Death quietly sipping his tea while his Weapon stared idly up through one of the Death Room's uppermost windows at a darkening sky. While the Shinigami shared the Death Scythe's concern about the worsening situation with Arachnophobia, he couldn't allow it to dominate his thoughts. As the Grim Reaper he had to manage the security of the entire world from his room atop the DWMA, a task that required that he always appreciate the 'bigger picture'. And as pressing as the threat of Arachnophobia may have been, it was still only a part of that 'bigger picture'.

"Wasn't Madeline supposed to make her report today?"

Death jumped a little, his train of thought interrupted, and took a moment to clear his throat before speaking.

"Yes, you missed it. There's an eleven hour difference between Death City and Cairo, so her call came very early this morning." Spirit levered himself back into a sitting position, giving his Meister an expectant look. "She's confirmed that Victor is the Black Knight, and now she's searching for Raena's hideout."

"Did she find out why Victor is involved in all this? I remember him being a little zealous as a student, but he was always so uptight about logic and reason, I have trouble imagining him falling to Madness."

"You have to keep in mind that Madness isn't necessarily manifested as an irrational state of mind. If you're trying to protect something you love, and you feel that you aren't strong enough to do so, wouldn't becoming stronger by any means seem a logical and appealing course of action?"

He let Spirit ponder that for a moment before continuing. The conversation was about to become very philosophical.

"The conflict we often are faced with when making decisions with far-reaching consequences is one of ethics. The difficulty of these choices comes from the delicate balance that must be struck between what is morally right or wrong. While the desired outcome may be more easily achieved through means that would require us to sacrifice our moral integrity, trying to reach that same outcome through 'moral' methods might be far more difficult or even impossible."

Spirit scratched his head in confusion. "I'm sorry Lord Death, but I don't follow. What does this have to do with whether or not Victor is crazy?"

Death steepled his rectangular fingers. "I'm not saying that he is. I'm not even saying that Madness is synonymous with insanity. All I'm saying is that I believe Victor was faced with a choice that he couldn't reconcile with morality, so he abandoned it for a code dictated only by unadulterated reason."

Spirit nodded slowly. "Okay, but that still doesn't answer my original question; why is Victor working with witches?"

Death answered, his voice darkening.

"The Tibet Incident."

There were several seconds of shocked silence before the Death Scythe spoke. "So… what you're saying is-"

"He won't let Raena use this construct, DEADE, for the purpose she intended. Instead he'll use it to finish what, seven-hundred years ago, I wouldn't. And there isn't a Butcher's Bill he's not willing to pay."

Spirit swallowed hard, his eyes falling to the contents of his still steaming cup of tea.

"I'm overwhelmed just figuring out how to deal with my Maka. I don't know how you keep track of all this stuff." He said glumly.

"That's why I'm the Grim Reaper and you're my Weapon." The eyes of Death's mask smiled as he patted the scythe on the head. "Don't worry about it too much. As long as we have the Magic Tools Victor can't go forward with his plan and Raena will only pose a marginal threat."

Spirit gave the deity a weak smile. "You're right as always." Second thoughts rebounded within the confines of his skull.

_At least, I hope so._

* * *

The overcast sky stretched over Death City and threatened rain as Roland wound his way through the cobblestone streets. Despite all his earlier running the swordsman walked with purpose, his caramel eyes clear and his steps sure.

Though he and Alexa had managed to overcome their resonance troubles Roland still felt they needed to clear the air of any lingering resentments. They hadn't really talked about what had happened during the mission in Egypt, and Roland feared that if they didn't confront the root of the issue their wavelengths would relapse into mutual rejection. He knew that an awkward conversation was inevitable.

First he had to locate his wayward Weapon. Assuming that she had gone to the apartment he'd set a course for home, navigating the city's winding streets at a prodigious stride. But his progress was suddenly interrupted when he turned a corner and ran smack into a grocery bag toting pedestrian.

The petite girl practically bounced off him and probably would've fallen and spilt the contents of her bag had Roland not caught her by the elbows and kept her upright.

"Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going." He apologized sheepishly.

"No worries! I was kind of spacing out myself." Maka adjusted the grocery bag in her arms, emerald eyes smiling. "Hey, today's the first day I've seen you at school in a while. Where've you been?"

"Um…" Roland scratched his head, unsure how much he was allowed to tell the Scythe Meister about recent events. Death had never explicitly bound them to silence, but he thought it might be prudent to withhold the whole truth from his classmate. "I got hurt on a mission in Ireland, so Lord Death gave me some time off to recover."

"He's pretty considerate for a god of death, huh?"

"That's for sure." Roland nodded. "Anyway, sorry for almost knocking you over. I guess I'll see you around?"

Maka's pig tails bobbed as she returned the nod. "Yeah, sure-"

"Hey!" Both turned as Jackson jogged up to the pair. He rested his hands against his knees, panting heavily, speaking between breaths. "Roland! I've been looking all over for you!"

"What? Why?"

Jackson darted forward, grabbing Roland by the shoulders with wild eyes. "I need your advice on a very delicate matter."

"Heheh… well in that case," Maka began, trying to step around the boys. "I'll just see you guys later?"

"Wait!" Jackson halted her with an outstretched hand and a calculating look. "I could use an opinion from a third party. You stay put."

Her eye twitched in annoyance. The grocery bag occupying her arms spared the Demon Axe some serious head trauma. "Okay..."

"What's this all about Jackson?"

He hesitated, suddenly seeming to reconsider whether or not he really wanted to divulge his secret. His silence dragged on for several seconds before Maka, not eager to be kept from her studies, spoke.

"Spit it out alre-!"

"Isabelle kissed me during the battle for Lost Island and I have no idea what I should do." Jackson blurted, interrupting Maka for the second time that day. "Roland, you have a girlfriend, and Maka you…well…are a girl, so I thought you guys might be able to help."

Everyone seemed to blush in sync.

"Was it a…um…romantic kiss?" Maka sputtered, trying to shake of the flush that the thought of a Weapon/Meister romance brought to her cheeks. "Not as in a romantic situation, but… er… I mean was the kiss itself romantic?"

"Not really, I don't know!"

"Maybe it would be best if you just talked to her about it." Roland suggested.

"Are you crazy? She'd snap me in half like a twig if I brought it up!"

The swordsman rolled his eyes. "Somehow I doubt that."

"I think it's important that you know how you feel about her before confronting her about the kiss." Maka said firmly. "At least, if I was in her position, and I had kissed my Weapon out of the blue… I mean…" The blush returned as the boys gave her a puzzled look.

"Maka, what are you talking about?" Jackson queried, confused.

"N-nothing!" She said, flustered. "Look, Jackson, do you like Isabelle as more than a friend or Meister?"

"I…I guess I…um…." The Demon Axe trailed off. Roland and Maka waited expectantly for his answer, practically leaning forward in anticipation. "Oh! Would you look at the time!" Jackson glanced at his naked wrist, throwing the other two students a forced smile. "I just remembered; I have to go water the fish! See you guys later!"

Before they could interject he dashed away, disappearing around a corner as Maka gave a frustrated sigh.

"Jeez, what an idiot."

* * *

All was quiet in the sanctum of Raena's hidden keep. The eerie light of the human souls that hung gently in the air painted the stone walls with their mute color, but their chalky blue glow was distorted by the virulent red that drifted up from the indecipherable runes scrawled in concentric circles across the cold floor. At the chamber's center was an altar, a rectangular block of granite devoid of any markings, and laid out upon this austere shrine was inky form of DEADE.

The Doom Engine's chest rose and fell as it drew in breath from invisible airways, its featureless face turned to the ceiling in silence.

Beyond the runic circles and flush against the wall towered a high-backed seat, wrought from the same dark stone as the rest of the chamber. The throne was as plain as the altar that stood before it, featureless and angular, hardly a comfortable place to sit. But reclined in its clutches amidst her deep purple robes was Raena. The Raven Witch was leaning forward, fingers steepled, her elbows set against the squared armrests of her throne. Her eyes followed her Doom Engine's gently rising chest with the intensity of a scientist waiting for two volatile chemicals to react, as if she expected it to jump up from its slumber and tear the castle down around it.

It wouldn't, and she knew this. But if it had she wouldn't have been especially displeased, and by no means disappointed.

Despite Lila's hefty contributions DEADE was the brain child of the Raena alone. The soul of an especially obedient, complacent, and self-deprecating human, an industrial worker who had lived alone on the outskirts of Moscow, served as the foundation for the entire machine. The Raven Witch had set Lila to her labors at once; the Arithmetic Magic that would turn the soul of that forgotten man into a living computer would be her contribution to the salvation of her race.

The man's remains were cast out for the ravens to pick clean; DEADE's body would have to be built from scratch. And it was as Raena and Lila prepared to assemble the Doom Engine's form that they were approached by Victor.

They were by no means oblivious to his identity. Those who succeed in creating a Death Scythe earn close attention from the witches they've proven themselves a threat to. Being their most dangerous adversaries, this attention often is manifested in assassinations, and such an end was duly planned for Victor and two fellow Death Scythe Meisters. The group of witches tasked with their murder by the Witch Queen Mabaa followed the trio to Tibet before inexplicably losing their quarry.

For an entire month the assassins combed the icy country to no avail, only to receive a tip that the trio had been spotted catching a flight to Kyoto from a city on Russia's easternmost seaboard. Confounded as to how they'd gone from Tibet to Siberia without being noticed the witches rushed to intercept the three before they could escape across the Pacific and back to the safety of Death City.

The witch who would relate the subsequent ambush to her sisters at the Witch's Mass described them as… changed. Outwardly identical to their previous selves, their souls had been twisted into abominable, unnatural things. Even their minds had become cruel amalgamations of two that were now one. But this terrible price did not come without its boons.

Mabaa had charged seven witches with the assassination of three Meisters and their Death Scythes. One returned.

Raena shifted imperceptibly in her seat. She remembered. She remembered too well the frenzied whispers, the hand wringing. The _fear._ Witches fluttering about like distressed squawking birds, hens cast into disarray after an eagle snatches one of their flock in life-stealing talons. It churned her insides like sour milk, rose into the back of her mouth like bile. Six witches dead and before a reprisal could be mounted their prey scattered, two disappearing entirely and one taking refuge within Shibusen's West Europe Branch.

And then Victor appeared at her doorstep. Haunting and handsome, man and monster, an enemy. A sword whose name had been Gregory towered silently beside him. That same blade who'd claimed the souls of her sisters; now pledged to her in allegiance.

Her response had been a suit of enchanted armor, black as raven's wings, to protect him, to mark him as hers. Her vassal. Her Knight.

So with their ebon guardian standing watch, DEADE was given shape. Bone, sinew, muscle, flesh; woven together and wrapped tight round ashen bones. Neurons, nerves, synapses; all delicately laid and aligned by steady hands. Two hearts, three lungs, a scant digestive tract, a brain with Lila's magic carved across its folds. Blood of enchanted ambrosia coursed through valves and veins, ensuring that no cell was denied its drought of mythic power.

The procedure had been a smashing success. Never since the Heretic Witch Arachne's conception of the first Demon Weapon had such a formidable tool been marshaled against Death. But DEADE was just a machine. Death was a god. So something was needed to level the field.

Much to Raena's chagrin both of those objects were now locked away in Shinigami's personal vault. In other words, completely out of reach for any witch that might want them. But nonetheless a smile found its way to her lips, a plan already crystallizing in her mind's eye.

A gentle whir rose from DEADE's prostrate form and Raena sank deeper into her angular throne with a contented murmur.

"Soon."

* * *

The air trembled with the peel of thunder. Rain that had minutes before been a moist breeze now swaddled Death City in soaking sheets. Pedestrians fled from the slick cobblestone streets, the setting sun hidden behind tumultuous clouds. Even the gaudy Death Weapon Meister Academy seemed dulled, its three immense candles subdued motes of fire in the downpour.

But Alexa was safe from the deluge, curled up in one of the apartment's plush armchairs with a book resting open faced in her lap. She was barely a dozen pages into the thick tome but it had already lost her interest. Instead her head rested against her shoulder, an arm stretching out over empty space with her middle and index fingers splayed into a slight V. It wasn't that the book was boring; it was more that a recent discovery had proven far more interesting.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as a brilliant ribbon of electricity arced between her knuckles, rippling across the space that separated her fingers and filling the air with its crackling buzz. It was amazing; the thrill of energy playing along the cords of her arm and fingers, watching the shining string spring from her skin like some jagged serpent before clamping its jaws on the opposite knuckle. It would hang there like a squirming golden cobweb for a few moments before Alexa cut the power and watched the arc blink from existence.

"I didn't know that you could do that."

With considerable effort Alexa acknowledged her Meister with only a casual shrug. _Why didn't I hear him come in? How long has he been standing there? _

"Neither did I. It only started happening recently." She wondered if she could hurl a lightning bolt at him, or at least give him an unpleasant shock.

The sword stole a glance at Roland as heavy steps carried him to the chair across from hers. He must've arrived with the rain; his hair was dripping with moisture and his olive green T-shirt was several shades too dark.

"Maybe achieving Soul Resonance allowed you access to latent elemental abilities. Like Harvar, he's a …" Even from behind rain splattered glasses he could make out her disinterested look. They both watched in silence as another rivulet of electricity crawled across her outstretched fingers.

"It's a good book you know."

Alexa gave him a quizzical look. "What?"

"_The Terror_." He gestured to the open book in her lap. "It's an interesting story. The whole thing's an allegory for the conflict between western civilization and nature, but it's really fascinating."

She grunted in agreement, turning her eyes back to the neglected text. "Yeah, it's good so far. I just wish they'd describe the monster already." Her Meister chuckled.

"That's the point. The creature is difficult to distinguish from its environment, so the enmity the ship's crew holds for one is also felt by the other. That's why people are afraid of wild places." They fell into thoughtful quiet for a moment as Alexa mulled over what he'd said.

"I was just wondering why you went to the library for it. We have a copy here in the apartment."

"I know."

His brows furrowed in confusion. "Then why-?"

"Those are the ones your dad gave you. They aren't mine to read."

"Alexa, you…" He paused, shaking his head and standing. "Wait here for a second."

The Demon Sword watched with vague interest as her Meister disappeared into the hall that led to their rooms. A few seconds later he emerged, a small wooden box held reverently with both hands. Curious blue eyes followed the swordsmen as he approached and offered it to his blade.

"Here. This is for you."

After a moment's hesitation she gingerly accepted the offering, reaching out to take hold of the box. It was almost weightless in her hands, a couple of inches shy of a foot long and maybe four inches wide. Plain brass hinges and a simple latch held the lid in place, and overall the little rectangular box had an unassuming appearance. But lovingly carved across its face were three words that made the Demon Sword look up at her Meister with uncertainty.

_-For my Son-_

"Roland, I don't think-"

"Open it."

The words were barely an uttered whisper but the quiet conviction behind them forced her to oblige. With a flick of her wrist the latch came undone, the lid yawning open effortlessly at the slightest brush of her fingers. Her breath caught in her throat as the box revealed its contents, her voice hushed with awe.

"Oh my god, they're beautiful." She sought the swordsman's eyes with her own, confusion the most prominent of the brimming emotions evident on her face. "Why are you showing me these?"

"My father gave those to me when I was eight years old. Apparently they were a souvenir from his last mission for Shibusen." Roland squatted, balancing on the balls of his feet with his elbows resting on his knees. "I want you to have them."

"Roland I…" Alexa stuttered, at a loss for words. Luckily for her Roland was prepared to fill the void with words of his own.

"I'm sorry Alexa. I never meant to push you away or make you feel that I didn't care about you. Because I do care about you. I care deeply, not only because you're my partner but because you're my friend. And don't think for a second that my relationship with Sonya changes any of that. It doesn't matter how close I get to her or anyone else for that matter. You're my Weapon, probably the only one I can wield, but still the only one I _want _to wield."

He shot to his feet, eyes bright, speaking with newfound vigor as Alexa looked on in stunned silence.

"Because you are my other half! Without you I'm just me, Roland, the kid with glasses who likes to read and thinks too much. But with you by my side, _in my hands_, I can do great things. I can fight, I can protect the things I care about, and I can feel your _soul_. Alone I am just a Meister and you are just a Weapon, alone I'm just a boy and you're just a girl. But together, together-!"

Alexa squeaked as Roland took hold of her shoulders and brought his face within inches of hers, their breath mixing as little droplets of rain water fell from his hair to her face in the moment of quiet before he spoke again, his voice now subdued.

"...together we are a warrior."

The Demon Sword held her breath. This wasn't the Roland she had grown accustomed to, the Roland whose words only came in even tones, who never misspoke, who radiated calm and always thought things through.

This Roland was different. She remembered catching a glimpse of him in angry eyes when the swordsman had forced her out of his soulscape. The same one who had pursued her across the desert without hesitation or a second thought. This was the Roland of passion and impulse who was at once frightening and intriguing, like lightning trapped in a jar, and she feared that if she so much as cracked the lid he would break free and consume her.

So her eyes fell from his and sought refuge in the box that lay open in her hands. Once again she found herself marveling at its contents.

The box's interior was lined with rich red velvet, delicately cushioning the four feathers that were laid out side by side and end to end. Two were the most brilliant shade of blue she'd ever seen, splinters of a cloudless summer sky. The other two were a deep, vibrant green, like the sun bleached canopy of a lush rainforest. Against the dull red of the velvet the feathers looked absolutely tropical, as if they'd been plucked from the wings of some colorful equatorial bird.

And they were hers. A gift from her Meister.

She looked up at Roland, cheeks heating at his proximity. His face still hovered a few scarce inches from hers, his look expectant as he awaited a response. Coughing a little to mask her awkwardness, her voice was much less confident than she would've liked.

"I… uh…" She smiled sheepishly. "I got you a new trench coat." Roland blinked, taken aback. "Cause I saw your old one was kinda tattered… and stuff."

"Thank you Alexa." He clapped her on the shoulder and stood, his smile genuine. "Take care of those feathers for me, all right?"

"Yeah, for sure!" He was backing away, fading into the hall that led to their rooms, still smiling. And for all the happiness welling up inside her all she could do was smile back. _I am his other half._

"Thank you Roland."

* * *

**A/N: **Alexa and Roland make up at long last. Huzzah for reconciliation. But the celebration looks like it will be short lived cause Raena's got a plan in the oven. But once again the question is raised; what happened in Tibet?

Next chapter, action! Canon character appearances! And disco?

Give me a few weeks to get this next chapter done. I'm in the middle of tech for a school play, and the day before yesterday some people dun went and goofed so we spent an entire workcall fixing their flats. Carpentry is hella fun. But enough of that.

Reviews are appreciated. And coveted.

A huge shout-out to all the awesome badasses who've already reviewed. You guys are the coal that makes this train roll.

-TheManInTheHat


	12. No Calm Before the Storm

No Calm Before the Storm

* * *

Hedgeton, a bustling metropolis home to a little under five hundred thousand human beings, lies on the windswept coast of Oregon with its face to the tumultuous Pacific Ocean. To the east beyond the suburbs rise the extinct volcanoes of the Cascade Mountains, their feet shrouded by forests of bristling fir. On the inland side of the mountains sprawl miles of dense alpine forest broken only by the highway that winds through the Cascades, leading into the Oregon interior.

A lonely outcropping of rock stands vigil in Hedgeton Harbor, approximately fifteen miles off shore. It was a fierce little pinnacle of stone, mottled lichen clinging tenaciously to its jagged surface as the ocean roiled around it. Nestled at its heart was a squat structure wrought of crude masonry, more an organized heap of vaguely rectangular stones than a castle. The peculiar fortification bore no hints to the identity of its builders and had been dismissed by Hedgeton's inhabitants as a relic of antiquity. The only thing anyone seemed to know about the island was its name, passed down to the citizens of Hedgeton by the Native American tribes that preceded them.

For as long as anyone remembered it had been called Raven's Roost. A counterintuitive name if ever there was one; the rock was only home to the occasional gull, if even that.

Or so they all thought.

Madeline Frey eyed the Roost from the Hedgeton waterfront through a pair of binoculars, scrutinizing the seemingly lifeless rock for any sign of habitation in the dying light. Her olive green scarf fluttered on a dank sea breeze but a tan pea coat guarded her from its chill. She stood at the end of a wharf that was currently under construction, building materials scattered along its length but its builders absent for the night.

There hadn't been much to suggest that Raven's Roost was Raena's hideout, save for the name and the inexplicable series of violent killings that had troubled mainland Hedgeton over the past few months. But it had been Madeline's only lead after her duel with Victor in Egypt, so she chose to investigate it. The Death Scythe Meister wouldn't regret the decision.

Behind her, crumpled against a neat stack of steel girders, was the corpse of one of Raena's lupine monsters. Its chest had been crushed, utterly pulverized, but the rest of its body was deceptively intact.

Crouching next to the beast and peering curiously at its mashed insides was a girl. Perhaps eighteen, she wore well worn denim coveralls and a faded powder blue T-shirt, her feet clad in mix-matched black and red Converses. Her braided black hair was piled almost carelessly atop her head, her bright brown eyes peeking out from a smooth coffee colored face.

"I guess she's here, huh?" The girl asked. Madeline nodded, the hammer slung over her back shifting with the motion.

"She wouldn't have bothered to try and assassinate me if I wasn't dangerously close." She let the binoculars hang around her neck by their leather strap while her hands fled to the warmth of her coat pockets. "I don't understand why she only sent one of those things. She knows I'm a match for Victor, why bother making such a half-hearted effort to kill me?"

"I think she's just letting you know that you're being watched." She paused a moment, thinking. "Well, now that we know where she is, we should make our report to Lord Death. I'm sure he'd want to know."

"Can't." The Death Scythe Meister shook her head. "All personnel not involved with Operation Capture Baba Yaga's Castle have been instructed to maintain radio silence. Death needs all his mirrors to coordinate the battle in Brazil."

"Oh." Her companion poked at the dead monster's face, nose wrinkling at the odor of its mulched insides. "Kinda looks like a halfwarg. A really _really _messed up one."

Madeline snorted, watching the sun nod off as it slipped over the horizon. "Halfwargs hate humans. And no matter what the witches think, they're still human. I don't think any amount of magic could bend one of the wolfkin to their will."

The girl sighed, sitting down next to the mutilated creature. "Maybe it was Victor's idea to use them. What better way to spite gods than by turning their children against them?"

Halfwarg. The Three-Star Meister pursed her lips in thought. She hadn't heard that word uttered in years. It stirred up memories of past she was supposed to have left behind, of a conflict that should to have ended seventeen years ago. But these days no one let sleeping wolves lie.

Her eyes fell to the dark skinned girl sitting by the monster as she turned to face them. Despite their obvious age difference the younger of the two was in fact the Weapon of the elder, her Death Scythe.

"Victor's plan could work. Where we failed, a god might succeed. But Shinigami-sama can't leave Death City, and Kishin Asura won't act unless he's directly threatened." Madeline sighed wistfully. "Maybe we should just stand aside. More people will get hurt if we struggle."

The slap that followed was completely unexpected. She'd endured far more devastating blows, but it sent her reeling nonetheless.

"Don't _ever _talk like that Madeline!" Her partner sputtered angrily. "Everyone else ran away, everyone but us! David, DeSoto, Victor, Gregory, they're all gone! They couldn't handle it, knowing tore them apart inside. But we're still here. And we'll stop Victor because we know there's a better way."

Madeline turned back towards the sea. Somewhere on that briny rock in Hedgeton Harbor was Raena, and with her Victor. They had to be stopped; the world order was fragile enough without them threatening to expose an evil that had been safely buried for seven hundred years.

"You're right." Madeline took a breath to steady herself before turning back to her Weapon with a grateful look. "Thank you Sasha."

It had been seventeen years since the Tibet Incident, and Sasha didn't look like she'd aged a day. That was, of course, because she hadn't. The girl keeping Madeline and the lifeless halfwarg company didn't exist. She was a figment of the Meister's imagination. An echo of a personality that had long ago ceased to exist as an individual entity, conjured up as a hallucination to help Madeline fend off the crushing loneliness that waited in the wings, ready to swoop down and consume her should she lower her guard for even a moment.

"That's the spirit." The hallucination placed a hand on her Meister's shoulder, offering a reassuring grin. "Come on; let's try contacting Shinigami-sama again. The sooner we make our report, the sooner this'll be over with. Maybe we'll get to see Roland afterwards, I know you wanna meet his Weapon."

"Yes… that'd be nice." Madeline smiled. Sasha disappeared as her Meister turned back towards the sea. "I'll stop you Victor. I won't let you hurt Roland again."

* * *

Kyla's breath came in shallow pants, her body slick with sweat, orange tank top clinging to her like a desperate lover. Eyes half-lidded she gyrated in time with the crush of humanity that pressed in around her, nostrils flaring to catch the scent of perspiration that hung over the dancing mass like a fog. She was completely in her element, the master of her domain. A predator. And everyone in the room was prey, vulnerable, completely subject to her will. Boy or girl, everyone was fair game. With the barest touch she claimed them for her own amusement and pleasure. Here only a truly staunch few were immune to her wiles. But they were all just playthings. A few minutes of heated intimate contact with strangers and acquaintances meant nothing for a single simple reason.

She was in love.

Her lover was approaching. The Hoop Meister's breath caught in her throat as the percussion faded to a lonely high pitched tone, the sound of a flat lining heart monitor. The sound of death. Everyone in the club, dancing or not, paused. For a few precious seconds they were all lifeless, communing with that breathless and unmoving state even while their hearts hammered barely restrained within their chests. This was the moment Kyla lived for. The lull, the quiet. Just as life is succeeded by death, music is succeeded by silence. But the nature of all things is cyclical. Death is followed by rebirth.

The bass dropped.

It was like riding rolling thunder. The percussion exploded into a furious, feverish beat, forcing life into the stilled dancers like a bolt of lightning. The bass throbbed like the heartbeat of an ancient god demanding that mere mortals move in its honor.

Fridays at _Grindhouse_, located in downtown Death City,were always grand affairs. The club played a wide variety of music but was at heart a dubstep/drums and bass institution. The bar was open to minors who bore Shibusen class IDs, so _Grindhouse _attracted a great number of the warrior-students once school got out for the weekend. Or, alternatively, when the academy closed so that Lord Death could coordinate sensitive operations without interruption.

And thus Kyla and company found themselves scattered around the crowded dance club.

Isabelle was sitting on a lonely bar stool sipping a brightly colored drink from a _very _dainty looking glass when Jackson stepped off of the dance floor, dazed with hair tasseled as he made his way over to his Meister. She gave him a raised eyebrow when he plopped into the seat next to her. The bartender sent a beer sliding his way, the Demon Axe catching the dark bottle with a swipe of his hand before giving Isabelle a goofy grin. She rolled her eyes. The music throbbed as the two took a moment to drink.

"So… you having a good time?"

"Yes." Isabelle gave her Weapon an appraising look. "Seems like you are too."

She sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "How many drinks have you had?" He held up three fingers. "Careful. Just because I _can_ carry you home, doesn't mean I will."

"Yeah." He laughed, running a hand through his rust colored hair and taking a swig of beer. "All right, I'm pretty buzzed, so I'm just gonna cut right to the chase here."

Jackson rested his elbows on the bar top. "Why did you kiss me at the Battle for BREW?"

A few moments of silence passed as Isabelle ran a finger along the rim of her glass, looking thoughtfully at its contents. Jackson kept his eyes glued to the counter as his Meister muttered a few delicate words.

"I know that sometimes my emotions get the better of me, I know that I can be stubborn and unreasonable. And I'm sure that a lot of people don't see me as much more than an up-tight hypocrite with anger issues. But Jackson," She laid a hand on his elbow, forcing the Demon Axe's eyes to hers with the gentle touch. "You're always there to stop me from losing control." Their noses were bare inches from touching, Jackson silently cursing the amber eyes that held him enthralled. "You keep me… grounded."

Her Weapon's cheeks flushed. "That… um… doesn't really answer my question."

She pulled away, taking a sip of her drink. "You were talking too much and I couldn't get at you with my hands. So I improvised."

"Oh." Jackson's face fell. "I see."

Isabelle shot him a concerned look. "Is something wrong?"

The Demon Axe gave his Meister a forced smile and a tired laugh. "Nope." He offered her his bottle. "Hey, cheers huh?"

"To what?"

He shrugged. "Your pick."

"All right." Eyes glittering, she raised her own glass with a small grin. "To friends and lovers."

_Goddamnit Isabelle_. Jackson's cheeks darkened as their glasses met in a tinkling kiss. _Contradictory messages are contradictory._

Meanwhile, as the pair drank in warm confused silence, Roland found himself washed up against the bar like a piece of water logged wood drifting ashore from a stormy sea. He leaned back against the counter, catching his breath, watching a bank of multi-colored strobe lights paint the dancing mass before him a cacophony of gaudy shades. Somewhere in that tangled mass of tired limbs and sweaty bodies was Sonya.

A smile played across his lips. Clubs weren't really his scene as he wasn't much of a dancer and his taste in music was less than conventional, but he was enjoying the excursion nonetheless. Dancing with Sonya had been pleasant. She wasn't as bold as her Meister (though he doubted anyone was) but her tentativeness suited him.

Of course he was painfully sober while everyone else in the group was at least pleasantly tipsy, including Chris and Isabelle of all people. Hating the taste of alcohol came as a sort of mixed blessing in situations like this; he would remember the night with crystal clarity but probably wouldn't have done anything worth remembering. But that was fine by Roland. He'd come to relax, drama was not on his to-do list.

However, nothing ever goes as planned when all your friends are drunk.

A familiar head of blood red hair separated itself from the dance floor, weaving through the idle crowd towards the swordsmen. Alexa took her place by Roland's side, sidling up to the swordsmen with a sly smile and nudging him with her hip.

"Hey." She purred.

He gave her a sideways glance. "Hey yourself."

The Demon Sword gave his sleeve a playful tug. "Why aren't you wearing your new coat?"

"I don't think wearing a concealing trench coat in a crowded building full of sweaty teenage girls would be a good idea."

She collapsed into a fit of giggles, crumpling against her Meister and clinging to his arm to stay upright. Roland rolled his eyes. _Someone's inebriated_.

After a moment she regained her composure, straightening with a happy sigh. "Our resonance needs a new name."

"I don't think you can just rename a resonance technique." He said dryly.

"Aw c'mon!" Alexa puffed her lower lip out in a pout. "It's way too literal. There's no deeper _meaning_!"

Roland shrugged. The numbing bass of the current song faded and Roland breathed a sigh of relief. A man could only take so much dubstep in one night. But he wasn't expecting the strums of ukulele that rose to fill the silence. Alexa's face brightened at the sound.

"Oh I _love _this band!" Her fingers caught the swordsman's wrist. "Come on, let's dance."

"I don't know…" Roland stood rooted in place, giving his entrapped wrist a curious look.

She shot him an exasperated scowl. "You'll cross a hundred miles of desert to rescue me from witches, but you won't dance with me?" There wasn't much he could say to that.

So, with some reservation, Roland allowed Alexa to lead him onto the dance floor. They found a few square feet of unoccupied space smack-dab in the middle of the thinning crowd. Roland allowed himself a mental grimace when he saw that the remaining dancers had all separated into enamored, drunken couples. His Weapon placed her hands on his shoulders, raising the hairs on the back of his neck with a playful jolt of electricity and a disarming smile.

"You're cute when you're drunk."

"I am not drunk." Roland snorted as his hands found Alexa's waist.

Her cheeks darkened to match her hair. "Oh."

The swordsman blinked. _Did she just call me cute?_

The question was lost as the vocals began, the haunting voice of a young man rising over the ukulele and the hushed din of the crowd.

"_If I was young, I'd flee this town_

_I'd bury my dreams underground_

_As did I, we drink to die, we drink tonight"_

Weapon and Meister swayed in unison as an accordion joined the melody. Something in Roland's chest clenched at the dreamy look Alexa was giving him. Here, after everything they'd been through in the past few months, she was content just to be near him. No violence, no fighting. Just them and the music, their arms limp bridges binding them together across empty space.

"_Far from home, elephant gun_

_Let's take them down one by one_

_We'll lay it down, it's not been found, it's not around"_

With a flex of will Roland focused his wavelength into the palms of his hands, Alexa's breath catching as her Meister's soul pulsed gently against hers.

"_Let the seasons begin – it rolls right on_

_Let the seasons begin – take the big king down"_

Her breathing deepened, her face softened, her gleaming blue eyes held his and her brows furrowed in a moment of concentration. A tingling sensation probed the muscles around his neck, and the swordsman shuddered as the gentle electric caress undid knots of stress he didn't even know were there.

"_Let the seasons begin – it rolls right on_

_Let the seasons begin – take the big king down"_

"Alexa you're," A look of patient, content expectation made him stumble. The fleshy glow of the lights turned her hair a brilliant red and painted her cheeks the color of roses. _When did she get so… pretty? _Notes of longing rose from a trumpet, accompanied by the slow percussion of a drum and tambourine

"_And it rips through the silence of our camp at night_

_And it rips through the night"_

A small smile urged him onwards. "I'm what?"

"_And it rips through the silence of our camp at night_

_And it rips through the silence, all that is left is all that I hide"_

"Really something."

* * *

Victor remembered this smell. Hidden behind the metal folds of his face plate, nostrils flared to take their drought of the familiar scent. Pale lips cracked into an invisible smile, a parched voice rasped to no one in particular.

"It's been a long time."

His quiet words resounded in the stone hallway. For a few moments the Knight waited for a response. There was none.

Armor hissing in time with his steps the hulking swordsman started off down the hall, each plated footfall thundering in the cramped passage. He moved like a giant trapped in a subway tube; greedily filling all the available space with his immense armored form and his torn black cloak, the towering shape of his zweihander threatening to touch the ceiling in places.

Torch lit wooden doors passed at regular intervals but no one emerged to challenge the intruder, even though he made no effort to mask his presence. There was no doubt in his mind that someone had noticed his entrance but the time it would take to mount a response was all he needed. Familiar hallways offered no resistance as the Knight advanced like a wraith towards his target.

_A twelve year old Victor trembled as the Death God towered over him, pale blonde hair matted from his walk in the rain. His clothes all seemed too big, a T-shirt hanging off one deathly pale shoulder as milky blue eyes sought those of the cloaked deity. But they were hidden behind an ivory skull mask; the solace young Victor sought from the gold ringed orbs of the reaper was nowhere to be found. The faceless god's voice was thick with sympathy._

"_I'm sorry we had to meet like this Victor. No one should have to lose their parents at such a tender age. No one should be helpless."_

_Tears threatened. Victor hated this world and its chaos, its madness. He hated the monster that had gutted his parents like fish. He hated how it laughed and laughed and laughed, like it was all just some sick joke. He hated all this senseless violence._

"_But you don't have to be helpless." Death bent and poked at Victor's chest with an angular white finger. "I can feel the good bottled up inside you. You can make the monsters go away. You can stop this from happening to anybody else." Little wet lines ran down the boy's cheeks as he quivered. "You can be a hero."_

Despite himself, excitement began to rise in the Knight's belly like wispy smoke. He was so close, his goal just a hundred steps away. Nothing short of Death himself could keep him from claiming his destiny. But Victor suppressed the feeling, stifling the butterflies in his stomach as if with poison gas. He would not become giddy, he was not a child. He was not helpless.

The wall beside him cracked as his soul stirred, an armored hand closing into a fist.

He was anything but helpless. He was a warrior, a killer. He'd felt life slip between his fingers in syrupy red rivers, seen it run along his blade like a lover's tears. Ninety-nine human souls and one witch soul had disappeared into his Weapon's maw, each once bound to a living body rendered lifeless. No, he was not helpless. He was a wolf among sheep too blind so see the danger in their midst.

_Torch lit wooden door pressed flush against his back, a sixteen year old Victor coughed to hide his blushing cheeks. A girl about his age with sandy brown hair and freckles stood before him, her olive colored scarf limp in the windless hall. She was smiling._

"_You did great on that last mission Victor. Me and Sasha really owe you and Gregory for saving our butts back in Dublin."_

"_It's okay Madeline." Victor cleared his throat, pinching his thumb and middle finger together anxiously. "Besides, David helped too. If he hadn't hamstringed that pre-Kishin I don't think I would've been able to finish it off."_

"_Don't be so modest." Madeline laughed, a pretty tinkling sound. _

"_I don't know." Victor heaved a dejected sigh. "Without you and David I'd probably be dead ten times over."_

_The girl gave a little pout. Then, before he could react, she leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. Victor blushed furiously as Madeline stepped back smiling._

"_You're stronger than you know."_

Victor stopped, his armor settling with a clank. Before him were two statues facing each other from their niches in the wall. Each was a squat, jagged figure with two blocky hands and a face carved into the three toothed caricature of a skull. Busts of the Death God himself, they stood as silent sentinels in the stony bowels of his academy.

The Knight brushed by them, their hollow eyes following him as he passed. Soon he came to a large iron-wrought door embellished with dozens of small Shinigami masks. Sitting on a metal folding chair nearby was a solitary guard, wearing a black flack jacket with a Shinigami skull emblazoned on its breast and an urban camouflage uniform underneath. Upon seeing Victor he rose from his seat with one hand held out for him to stop, the other hovering above the sidearm strapped to his hip.

"This is a restricted area, present identification verifying that you have proper clearance to continue."

A grim smile played across Victor's hidden lips. This was a Shibusen Ops agent, a human who was neither Weapon nor Meister but had pledged their service to Lord Death and Shibusen. They were drawn from a myriad of professions, Army Rangers to structural engineers and accountants, all united by the cause of preserving peace and order without national boundaries. And they played an important role in Death's organization. Only ten percent of the student population at the DWMA was in the EAT class, and only a rare few of those students ever became Death Scythes or Three Star Meisters. Death had a whole world to protect; he needed all the help he could get.

But this was only one man. The security detail normally assigned to Shinigami's vault had been conveniently diverted to Operation Capture Baba Yaga's Castle in Brazil. Victor passed him, bracing his armored hands against the door to open it. The Ops agent reacted without hesitation, 9mm pistol leaving its holster in a blur. The bark of gunshots echoed in the enclosed space, followed by eerie silence.

The vault doors creaked in protest as they opened.

Hand fumbling for his radio the Ops agent stumbled backwards, eyes fixed on the flattened bullets scattered about the Knight's feet.

"The vault has been breached! I repeat: the vault has been breached! Send backup!"

_An eighteen year old Victor tried desperately to level his breathing, leaning on his immense sword for support. Across from him knelt Madeline, Demon Hammer resting on her shoulder. They were in a large cave with thick roots weaving through walls of damp stone, the air thick with moisture. Panting near the entrance to the cavern crouched a boy, his dark brown hair a singed mess, a long kunai dagger gripped tightly in his right hand. _

_The three tensed as a shrieking cry sundered the silence, a thundering screech accented by the beat of flapping wings. An earthen roar sounded in response, like a yawning mountain, followed by a terrible ripping like someone had torn a huge bloody piece of paper down the middle._

"_We're in way over our heads. Death said there was a disturbance, but this…" The boy with the kunai hissed, edging back towards his companions. "This is fucking crazy. We need backup." _

"_David's right." Victor nodded with a ragged cough. "The Einherjar's defenses are barely holding together against just one of the Trinity. Defeat will be certain if we don't receive reinforcements before the other two arrive."_

"_Just shut up and let me think!" Madeline hissed, squeezing her eyes shut as another fanfare of screeching roars echoed through their shelter. David grimaced and squatted before his fellow Death Scythe Meister, his teammate. His lover._

_Victor snorted and averted his eyes as David leaned in and laid a tender kiss against Madeline's lips. She whimpered as they separated, Victor's gut churning as David whispered quiet words of comfort into her ear. _

_Victor's eyes hesitantly returned to the pair at the sound of Madeline's voice_

"_Hey, where'd those come from?"_

_Clenched in David's left hand was a bundle of brightly colored green and blue feathers. _

"_I must've pulled them off during the fight." The kunai wielding Meister laughed dryly. "Hey, they'll make for good souvenirs when we get back huh?"_

_Madeline smiled. "Sure. We just have to get out of here first."_

_A yawning groan resounded from the depths of the cavern. Madeline steeled her eyes and stood. "Come on. We've still got a mission to complete."_

_Her companions nodded and the trio turned to face the source of the most recent inhuman noise. _

_The entire back of the cave was dominated by an immense door, a gargantuan slab of interlaced wood and stone. Forming a small mound against it were the dead husks of hundreds of plate sized crustaceans, reminiscent of horseshoe crabs. The claw marks above their resting place seemed to indicate that they'd died trying to get into the sealed vault._

_Victor's face became grim._

_Though it was barely visible in the poor light of the cave, further obscured by the dried out crabs laying against the foot of the door in pungent heaps, what Victor saw confirmed Death's gravest fears._

_The door was open._

Victor loomed over the pedestal that held the Eye of Vengeance and Omni-Resonator. He'd ignored every other artifact in the vault; the pages from the Book of Eibon and the countless other Magic Tools Shinigami's vault contained held no appeal for the determined Knight. His quarry disappeared into the sack at his waist just as the shuffle of boots announced the arrival of the vault's defenders.

"HALT!" Victor turned, finding himself staring down the barrels of a dozen Heckler & Koch UMPs. Each mean looking submachine gun was nestled in the steely grip of a Shibusen Ops agent, every one of them a bona fide killer clad in gray camo and Kevlar. None of them wavered as Victor drew his zweihander.

"Make me."

Twelve trigger fingers contracted in unison, the thunder of their guns deafening in the stone chamber. Spent casing fell about their booted feet like brass rain. A few ricocheting bullets kicked up splinters of stone as they glanced off the Knight's armor at oblique angles. Shredded pieces of black cloth scattered into the air as the barrage continued, muzzle flashes painting jagged shadows against the wall. Ten long seconds passed before the sound of gunfire was replaced with the distinct hollow clicks of dry firing weapons. Their magazines spent, the Ops agents lowered their submachine guns to survey the damage.

The Knight had dropped into a protective crouch, his sword held across his body as he twisted to shield the bag holding the Magic Tools from harm. His dark cloak had been reduced to a few mangled scraps of fabric, but other than that he'd sustained no visible damage. Hundreds of flattened bullets laid dumbfounded at his feet, denied their target by his enchanted armor.

One of the agents threw down his gun and rushed forward, drawing a combat knife and jamming it between the plates of Victor's cuirass. A few rivulets of blood spilled over the inky metal, and the Knight placed a hand on the agent's shoulder as if to support himself.

"Most say that courage is an enviable trait. I would disagree." The man spasmed and fell to his knees as Victor struck him with his wavelength. "A dog can be courageous but dogs are also invariably _stupid_, only able to follow the simplest of commands."

The others hurried to reload as the Knight raised his sword. "And a bad dog must be put down."

* * *

**A/N: **The lyrics in the dance scene were from Beirut's _Elephant Gun_.

Victor and Raena have recaptured the Magic Tools, just when Roland and co. thought things were cooling down. Luckily for them, Madeline has found the Raven Witch's secret base. A few snippets of Victor's past reveal a tantalizing glimpse into the events of the Tibet Incident, raising more questions than have been answered. Who are the Einherjar and the Trinity? What's on the other side of the earthen door? What happened to Madeline, David, and Victor? And more importantly, what does all of this have to do with DEADE?

Next chapter, Shibusen rushes to prepare for the inevitable clash with Raena and her forces. The line has been drawn, but it remains to be seen who will emerge victorious and what malevolent forces are at work behind the scenes.

Prepare yourselves readers. There will be blood.

All of you who have reviewed so far are awesome. A special thanks to Brave Soul for an especially inspiring review.

If you haven't reviewed, I encourage you to do so. If you have, I encourage you to do so. Tell me what you think!

-TheManInTheHat


	13. The Lines Are Drawn

The Lines Are Drawn

* * *

"_This is Rebecca Young reporting live from Hedgeton, Oregon."_

Death was rooted before his mirror, watching the news broadcast with rapt attention.

"_We're here on the Hedgeton waterfront looking at what authorities are calling an Independent Cube, a sort of Spatial Magic employed by witches that seals whatever is inside the cube within a pocket dimension for a predetermined period of time."_

A grim looking Spirit slouched next to his Meister, concern obvious on his face. "That's the same thing Medusa used to trap us at the anniversary party."

The Shinigami quickly shushed him as the reporter continued.

"_The cube appeared earlier this morning and concealed an uninhabited island in the harbor known as Raven's Roost. The purpose of the barrier is, as of this broadcast, unknown."_

Stein, who stood nearby, clicked his tongue disapprovingly, muttering something along the lines of 'idiots' under his breath.

"_As a safety precaution the Oregon National Guard has begun an evacuation of the greater Hedgeton area. National Guard and Army Reserve units have been deployed to the city to oversee the proceedings, and the military has set up a Forward Operating Base, or FOC, at Hedgeton International Airport to coordinate the evacuation."_

Quiet suffocated the Death Room's occupants as the screen shifted to a shot of a treaded fighting vehicle flanked by a soldiers advancing down an empty city street.

"_Shibusen has yet to release a statement regarding these recent developments, but rumors abound. With the stunning revelation just yesterday that Shibusen launched an unsanctioned strike against terrorist organization Arachnophobia in Brazil, these next few days will prove critical to its standing in the international community. Experts suggest that-"_

The image of the reporter blinked from sight, leaving Death's lonely reflection to contemplate the depths of the mirror in silence. Spirit gave him a sympathetic look, he knew better than anyone that the last few days had been taxing on the deity. Operation Capture Baba Yaga's Castle had been a smashing success; with Arachne dead Arachnophobia had been shattered. But victory had come at a terrible cost, Death the Kid had not returned. Instead, the young Shinigami's Twin Demon Pistols had related their Meister's kidnapping by Noah to his distraught father.

But the world didn't stop turning, even for the kidnapped sons of gods.

Death turned away from the mirror, facing the students arrayed at the foot of his platform. Roland, Isabelle, Kyla and their Weapon counterparts stood in a loose half circle before the somber Reaper as he addressed them in a subdued tone.

"I don't think that I need to belabor how important this upcoming mission will be. We stand to lose much if Raena succeeds."

His hidden eyes swept over the students.

"While the six of you have succeeded against Raena's forces in the past, you're all still only One-Star Meisters. I've assigned Sid, Stein, Nygus, Marie, Azusa, and a Three-Star Meister from West Europe Branch to lead the Spartoi against the enemy. Since Chris is a Two-Star Meister, he will be filling in for Kid."

Sonya cast a nervous glance to her peers, but they offered her no reassurance. "But if you already decided that we weren't going to Hedgeton to help fight Raena, why are you telling us all this?"

Eyes smiling Death held up his hands in mock defense, his cheery voice returning. "Whoa there speedracer, I never said you guys weren't going to help." He received their confused looks with a chuckle. "I just said that I didn't assign you to the mission."

"…what?" Jackson scratched his head in puzzlement.

Shinigami's arms fell to his sides with a sigh and he addressed the students in an even tone.

"It wouldn't have been prudent to force all of you into a situation you might not feel prepared for. But you were all there at the beginning, so I figured I'd leave the door open if you wanted to see it through to the end." He held out his hands, palms up. "The choice is yours. If you choose to stay, it will not be held against you. But if you decide to accompany the Spartoi to Hedgeton, I will allow it."

After a few moments of silence Jackson spoke, giving Isabelle a rueful smile. "Whaddya think Isabelle? How about we show Raena and her goons what we're made of?"

His Meister blinked, taken aback. Had her partner, the protective Demon Axe who always erred on the side of caution, just left the decision of whether or not to put themselves in danger in her hands?

Amber eyes hard set, she gave a curt nod. "Yeah, we'll take them down a notch."

"We're coming too." Sonya stated, arms crossed resolutely over her chest. Kyla chuckled at her display and clapped a hand over her Weapon's shoulder.

"I guess I've been spoken for."

All eyes turned to Roland and Alexa. The Demon Sword gave him a questioning look, awaiting his choice. With a dry laugh and a taught smile, he spoke.

"I've already got two scars from this mess. A few more won't kill me."

Alexa grinned fiercely. "Well, if that's how you feel," Electricity danced across her clenched fist.

"Let's do it."

* * *

All the pieces were falling into place.

Armored footsteps resounded in the stone hallway, the inky contents of the syringe clenched in Victor's hand throbbing with power. The door to the keep's inner sanctum loomed before him, much as the door to Shinigami's vault had not a day prior. A dozen men had met their ends at his hands that night, and he knew that in the coming days many more would join them.

Because Victor had had another objective when he broke into the DWMA's subbasement, one equal in importance to retrieving the two Magic Tools from the vault.

In a spartan dungeon cell he found what he sought. It had pooled in a crack in the stone floor, lost there during some scuffle between the room's past inhabitants. The Knight drew the substance up into a syringe without ceremony and went on his way.

He was careful to leave the former room of Chrona Gorgon exactly the way he'd found it.

The Knight wordlessly swept into the sanctum, locking the heavy door behind him and turning with syringe in hand.

Laid out on the central altar was DEADE, the turquoise plaque that was the Eye of Vengeance lodged into the Doom Engine's chest. Raena stood over the prostrate construct with her arms thrown wide, her incantations interrupted by her subordinate's sudden and unexpected entrance.

"Victor, what are you-" She noticed the syringe. "What's that you have there?" The gig was up; Victor made no effort to hide the syringe as Raena's eyes widened in realization. "That wavelength, is that-?"

He finished her sentence. "Black Blood."

There was nothing to be said. Victor's betrayal had been made plain. All that remained was DEADE. And the Raven Witch had no intention of giving it up.

Robe a blur, Raena screamed her mantra and sent a flurry of Feather Burst orbs howling across the chamber. Before the magical spheres could leave her hands the Knight was reaching for his Weapon, whipping the towering sword over his shoulder and sending it rocketing towards the witch with an inhuman throw before curling his armored body around the delicate syringe.

A series of explosions rocked the stone chamber, choking the air with hundreds of tiny dagger-like feathers. The ricocheting shrapnel tore at everything; the walls, the altar, the witch, DEADE. By sheer chance a few slipped through the seams of Victor's armor, biting at the flesh underneath like greedy little insects. With a crash the heavy door was shattered and thrown off its hinges.

As the dust settled, Victor pulled himself back to his full height, rivulets of blood trickling from between his ebon plates as he stood.

Raena had not been so lucky, her body covered in shallow cuts left behind by the hurricane of sharp feathers and stone chips that was the result of her initial attack. But these self-inflicted wounds were easily survivable. The one Victor had left her with however, was a far grimmer matter.

Gregory, the Knight's rectangular zweihander, had pierced Raena's middle and pinned her to the far wall. Her purple robes were dripping red from the waist down, thoroughly soaked in the witch's blood. She blinked disbelievingly at the hilt that protruded from her belly, trembling hands still raised as if to cast one final spell.

But she couldn't call forth any magic now; the immense blade had torn her diaphragm and split her spine. Speechless, paralyzed from the waist down, and slowly suffocating, she was helpless as the Knight approached. He paused before her, scrutinizing the skewered witch from behind his face plate.

"Isn't it ironic I survived that attack only because of the armor _you _gave me?"

The aforementioned irony wasn't lost on Raena. She gurgled furiously, reaching out to claw the Knight only to recoil with a pained yelp as Gregory cut deeper into her shredded insides. Victor held up the syringe of Black Blood for Raena to see, waving it in her face to make sure she got a good look.

"There isn't enough in here to turn DEADE into a Kishin outright. But it's enough to corrupt its programming with the seed of Madness. It will drive DEADE to consume human souls, and with the power of the Eye of Vengeance no one will be able to stop it from becoming a Kishin."

An armored hand wrapped around the sword hilt that protruded from Raena's stomach.

"With the power of a Kishin and the Eye of Vengeance, DEADE will be the most powerful being to ever walk the earth. It will become more than a god. Nothing will be able to stand against it, not Death, not Asura." He leaned in close, whispering in her ear.

"Not even the Trinity."

Raena's eyes widened with a desperate fearful gleam, the enormity of Victor's plans revealed at last. She'd been used; her own designs just a means to an end for the rogue Meister. Anger boiled up within the maimed woman. This affront would not go unpunished! Her sisters would avenge her! They'd-!

Victor freed his sword from her stomach, simultaneously kicking the witch back into the wall. She crumpled into a bloody heap as he turned away, preparing to mar her glorious creation with Madness. But the last chortled laugh was hers. Because much as she had unwittingly played into Victor's plans he had thoughtlessly fulfilled her own vengeance.

Cackling madly, Raena's body burst into a dozen inky black ravens, squawking indignantly as they wheeled out of the room. Victor ignored them, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd interrupted the witch in the middle of the ritual meant to bond the Eye of Vengeance to DEADE.

Defeat, snatched from the jaws of victory.

* * *

Two days was all it took for the appearance of the Independent Cube to turn Hedgeton from a bustling city to a ghost town. A mournful wind scattered newspapers through empty streets, shuttered storefronts making faceless palisades of once proud places of business. But Hedgeton was by no means abandoned.

Stinger missile teams were cloistered away in defensible niches along the waterfront. Intersections had been transformed from traffic junctions to forts, walls of sandbags three feet thick ringing fighting vehicles and rifle bearing soldiers in a protective embrace. It seemed that the whole city had been divided into scattered islands of security in preparation for the coming storm.

Private Martinez of the Oregon National Guard was leaning against a Bradley parked in the intersection of Second and Third Street when he saw movement in his vector. He adjusted his grip on his M4 carbine and approached the low sandbag wall that blocked the road, eyes fixed on a parked car about a block away. Another soldier noticed and walked to his side. Martinez spoke quietly.

"Just saw something move behind that car."

They watched the car for a few tense moments before a small animal darted from underneath it and into a nearby alley. Relaxing, the other soldier patted Martinez on the shoulder.

"Probably just a stray cat."

Shrugging, he walked back to the Bradley to resume his loitering.

The creature scampered down the alleyway, its small heart beating fast as it burst into an open space between the buildings that rose to its left and right. Nestled in between the two tall apartment buildings was a basketball court, connected to the streets beyond by an alleyway at each of its ends.

Jerking to a stop the slender animal rose to its hind legs and sniffed the air, casting a cautious glance back the way it had come. Satisfied that it had not been followed it dropped to all fours and scurried forward. Glowing purple the mongoose twisted into a human shape.

Lila gave the collar of her jacket an annoyed tug as she left her mongoose form, giving the long handled paintbrush in her other hand a little twirl. Tiny droplets of red scattered at the motion.

"Pfft, a stray cat? Assholes." She turned her nose up in indignation. "I'll show them."

Approaching the center of the court with a determined look, she set about her work. With all the finesse of a master cartographer she laid cryptic runes against the asphalt. Three concentric circles of bloody runes later the witch wove an intricate serpentine border round the perimeter of her ritual patterns. Careful not to tread in the wet paint she moved to draw a pentagram whose points stretched out to the very edge of the circle, finishing with a flourish and stepping back to admire her work.

"All done!" She chirped. The painted lines took an unearthly red glow. "Weasels, weasel, mongoose!" Whipping out an open palm, the surface of the runic circle rippled like disturbed water.

"Spatial Gate!" The inscriptions flashed electric green, and a three fingered arm erupted from their center. Before the first halfwarg could free itself another burst from the ground nearby, and then another, and another. Their disembodied howls began to fill the air as Lila retreated into mongoose form and darted into the alley that led back to the street, her laughter barely audible over the cries of the summoned monsters.

"Four more to go."

* * *

Chris had originally been skeptical that a group of their size would be very practical against an unknown number of enemies in the confines of a metropolitan city. Since Lord Death had insisted on allowing the other One-Stars decide whether or not they would tag along, the head count of their force had jumped to twenty-six people. It hadn't been since the battle on Lost Island that the Demon Gun slinger had seen so many Weapon/Meister teams mustered for a single conflict.

Needless to say, the posh private jet that ferried them to Oregon had been a little claustrophobic.

Upon disembarking the Shibusen force found that Hedgeton International Airport had become a mind-numbing hive of activity, three massive C-17 Hercules Globemasters resting heavily on the tarmac as their cargoes were hurriedly unloaded. But audible above the din was the distant clatter of gunfire and stomach churning yowls of Raena's monsters, periodic rumbling explosions filling all present with a sense of urgency as the battle raged bitterly not a dozen miles away.

Chris thrummed his fingers against Claire's ivory stock as the whole group followed Sid through the maze of supply crates and idling combat vehicles, the weight of the high caliber revolver against his thigh offering mute comfort as their colorful procession of students and faculty earned puzzled glances from bustling military personnel.

A nondescript tent of olive-green canvas came into view and Sid brought the group to a halt.

"Maka, Ox, Chris, with me. Stein, make sure the others don't wander off."

The patchwork professor grumbled an affirmative while Sid led his three chosen Meisters and their Weapons into the tent. It was actually much larger than it outwardly appeared, but cluttered with communications equipment and military personnel. The center of the room was dominated by a square table with a Hedgeton city map spread over it, surrounded by individuals clad in sandy brown army uniforms. A short, muscular man stood at the head of the table, and judging by his stripes and the way larger men shrunk under his fiery gaze Chris safely assumed he was the one in charge. Gray hair cropped close to his head, snarling mouth framed by an impossibly thick handlebar mustache, he seemed like someone you would be wise not to piss off.

And he was not a happy man.

"What the fuck do you mean; you don't know where they fucking came from?" A square-jawed officer who was a full foot taller than his burly superior seemed to whither under the verbal assault. "I want to know how the fuck those things got into the city, and I want to know now! Get me some goddamn satellite photos, as soon as fucking possible!"

The officer nodded quickly, face pale, before hurrying away. Bringing his brandished index finger to bear on another one of his staff members he continued.

"Tell the air force pricks down at hanger seven to get those UAVs airborne! I wanted a live feed five minutes ago!" The staffer nodded, rushing to his task as the general shifted his pointed finger to another subordinate.

"Tell the _Abraham Lincoln _and its escorts to hold position and await further orders once they're in range of the Independent Cube. I want to hit that rock with everything we've got as soon as the Cube comes down!"

The general turned his eyes to the far end of the table as his staff worked furiously to make his will reality.

"Your report Azusa?"

Across from him stood the Death Scythe in question, who cleared her throat to speak. "General, they've arrived."

The general looked over his shoulder, face reddening with anger when he spotted Sid and the teenagers who stood behind him.

"What the hell is this shit?"

Sid spoke. "We're your reinforcements."

The general spun to fully face the group.

"Is this some kind of joke? The reinforcements Shibusen promised amounts to some kind of zombie and a few goddamn kids?"

"Actually, there are more outside. We just didn't want to crowd your command center."

The general threw up his hands in exasperation.

"We finish evacuating the city, and now I have more civilians to get rid of. This is a military operation, not a goddamn field trip!" Dismissing them with an angry wave, he turned back to the table. "Send those kids back in whatever they flew in on. I have business to attend to."

Sid crossed his arms over his chest. "No offense general, but it doesn't seem like you're taking this very seriously."

"You listen to me! I've spent the last forty-eight hours coordinating the dual evacuation and fortification of the entire city!" Fuming, the pugnacious general turned, everyone in the tent save for Sid and Azusa flinching as his voice boomed. "Hedgeton is currently being occupied by the United States Army, which has been tasked with cleaning up _your _people's mess! If I had it my way Shinigami would be tried before a military tribunal for dereliction of duty; it's his job to make sure shit like this doesn't happen! And when he decides to lend a hand in picking up the pieces, it comes in the form of a group of fucking adolescents!"

He took a moment to compose himself before continuing.

"Perhaps you'd like to reevaluate who's taking the situation seriously."

Sid and the general stared each other down for a few tense moments before Maka spoke up.

"Come on you two, we'll never beat Raena if we don't work together."

Chris winced. _That was probably a bad time to speak up._ But the Scythe Tech's even tone had the desired effect and the general huffed, turning back to his map.

"Brief your people Azusa."

"Of course general." The Death Scythe faced the group, scrutinizing Sid and his chosen students through the rectangular lenses of her glasses. "Our prime objective is to neutralize D.E.A.D.E., which we believe to be in the final stages of construction on Raven's Roost in the bay. However with the Independent Cube keeping Raven's Roost safe in a pocket dimension there's little we can do to intervene until the Cube's time is up."

Tilting her head ever so slightly forward, she adjusted her spectacles and continued.

"Despite this security Raena isn't just sitting on her hands. National Guard and Army Reserve units have engaged Raena's forces within Hedgeton and we must help them hold the line until the enemy's staging areas inside the city have been located and destroyed."

Speaking tersely, the general glanced up from his tactical map. "We're assembling a convoy to bring reinforcements to the front; you'll be riding with them." He gave a reflexive growl as his eyes fell on the students, obviously unhappy with their involvement. "Just don't get in the way. These guns aren't toys."

Sid gave a grunt of approval when none of his students wavered at the general's words. "Anything else we should know Azusa?"

"Three-Star Meister Madeline Frey was in the city when Raena launched her preemptive strike, and we've lost contact with her. If you see anyone wielding a large, purple crystalline hammer then that's her, but keep an eye out." Azusa and Sid exchanged departing nods as the blue skinned Knife Meister led the students from the tent. "Good luck."

* * *

Martinez dropped to one knee, shouldering his M4 and squeezing the trigger, adding the bark of his rifle to the cacophony of gunfire and howls that muted the shouted orders of his superior officers. Nightmarish gray creatures surged down the street towards the barricade he knelt behind, the tide of clawed limbs unabated under the withering fire of a dozen assault rifles. It seemed that for every creature he cut down two more sprang forward to take its place.

The squad gunner swung his M240 onto the rim of the low sandbag wall, unleashing a flurry of bullets into the oncoming horde as the machine gun bucked in his hands. Their advance only slowed when the Bradley turned its autocannon on them, shells meant for punching fist sized holes in tank armor ripping through the emaciated Halfwargs with pitiful ease. But their numbers were too great, and the barricade's beleaguered defenders were unable to keep up their prodigious rate of fire.

His heartbeat thundering in his ears, Martinez dropped the spent magazine from his carbine and slammed a fresh clip into place as he heard two unmistakable words rise over the gunfire.

"Fall back!"

Martinez quickly complied, ducking his head as he ran past the Bradley, its coaxial machine gun joining the already blazing autocannon in covering the riflemen's retreat. He vaulted over the sandbag wall, hitting the street on the other side at a sprint, the Bradley's engine growling as it kept pace with the fleeing soldiers. They ran a full two blocks before Martinez heard the screams of men being overtaken.

Suddenly he saw someone step out from an apartment complex not far down the street, waving his arms towards the building he had emerged from. Martinez didn't need any more encouragement, charging past the man and through the door into the building. There was a flight of stairs in the middle of the room, and he sprinted up to the first landing before spinning to cover the door. Three more riflemen burst through, followed by the man who'd waved them down. The riflemen stomped up the stairs past Martinez and their rescuer stopped beside him, empty hands clenched into fists as he watched the entrance.

Another rifleman made it halfway through the doorway before a gray clawed arm grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back out. Their rescuer cursed, turning and running up the stairs with Martinez in tow. They barreled through the first door they came to, slamming the door leading to the stairs shut. The other three riflemen were waiting with a file cabinet, pushing it into position in front of the door before the whole company stopped to catch their breath.

Martinez eyed their savior warily. He was a teenager, with bleached blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, wearing what for all the world seemed to be a suit, the color of pristine ivory. The panting soldier spotted another teen, dressed so darkly that it was almost obnoxious, leaning nearby against the wall. _Must've ignored the evacuation order._

A voice broke the ragged silence of their breathing.

"You guys had better come see this."

Still huffing from his earlier exertion, he turned to see one of the riflemen looking out of a nearby window. Regret and disgust struck him like twin hammers as he partook in the view.

The road was thick with halfwarg, surging around the floundering Bradley like a fierce river while its guns blazed, spitting fire into the mass of enemies who were so numerous as to violently jostle the armored vehicle as they rumbled past. One leapt onto its chassis only to be torn in half by a round from its autocannon but another sprung aboard as the other was destroyed, latching its claws onto the vehicle's access hatch, struggling for a few moments before prying it open. It reached an arm down through the hatch and ripped a crewman from the Bradley's armored womb, tossing him to the others that surged past.

Martinez turned away from the window, unwilling to watch the Bradley's crew be torn apart by the nightmares of flesh and bone. Anger welled inside of him at the thought that his fellow soldiers were being slaughtered like animals, by animals.

"_We're supposed to be the most advanced fighting force on Earth for fuck's sake!__"_ His exclamation, punctuated by slamming his gloved fist against the window frame, was aimed at no one in particular. Looking around at his compatriots he saw only similarly disheartened expressions. All save for their savior who was…smirking? His dark haired companion cackled, disappearing in a flash of bloody red.

The soldier's cries were muted by the furious roar of Marcus's engine, his insane laughter mingling with the yowls of the halfwarg in the street below.

* * *

Kyla moved through the crowded streets like an angry dust devil, leaving shredded enemies in her wake as Sonya's whistling blade carved a bloody path through the charging halfwarg, like some twisted sculptor taking monsters and whittling them down to dainty ribbons of gore. She'd left the others far behind, striking out on her own when an ambush had split their convoy into bite sized chunks halfway to downtown Hedgeton.

The ambush had been eerily reminiscent of the opening acts of the Battle for BREW, but even that conflict had done little to prepare Kyla for the orgy of violence she now found herself waist deep in.

War assaulted her senses. Gunfire thundered over the roars of the dying; a mixture of blood and smoke filled her nostrils with the unmistakable scent of death. Panting breaths left her mouth dry, but Sonya's blade was slick with crimson. Like a vengeful river her twirling form bounded over the slain, swelling their ranks with every step. At the heart of the chaos were the drives to survive and to kill; they turned her from a dancer to a death dealer.

And there was the omnipresent dank stench of fear. It rose in wafting sheets, clouding her spiritual sight with the amalgamated terrors and anxieties of the scattered combatants as they scrambled about the besieged city like ants whose mound had just been kicked in by a bored five year old.

But Kyla hadn't the time to wax poetic; the whine of a turboprop engine announced the Reaper Drone that was passing overhead, splitting the sky with the contrail of a Hellfire missile.

"Kyla! Look out!" Sonya cried, straining to be heard as the rocket screamed earthward with fiery intent. The Hoop Meister growled, whipping her blade around in a blur, felling one last monster in a cloud of arterial spray before hand-springing back to distance herself from the impending explosion when… none came. Kyla came screeching to a halt, braced for the blast with Sonya held defensively across her chest.

Cackling. The sound dripped with malice, effortlessly filling the stunned silence. Sonya whimpered. "Kyla…"

"I see her." The Hoop Meister responded, doing her best to keep her tone even.

Standing in the middle of the street was Lila, her arms and legs sheathed in pulsing violet energy. Her laughter had become hysterical. "I always loved fireworks!" The Hellfire missile sputtered angrily, firmly clenched in her glowing claws. "Here-" She cocked her arm back with a fierce grin. "Hot potato!" With a grunt she sent the missile hurtling towards them, tipping end over end like a fumbled football.

Sonya could only squeal in fear and surprise as her Meister surged forward, ducking around the missile as it careened past and sweeping her Weapon at the witch in a horizontal slash. Sonya's blade glanced off the back of her magic sheathed hand, forcing the Meister to dodge out of the way as she split the concrete at their feet with a shattering arm thrust.

The hellfire missile exploded nearly a block away, unnoticed by the two combatants as they blurred towards each other, their duel commencing in earnest.

Kyla leapt, twisting through the air like a serpent, every contortion of her body slashing Lila at a different angle. But her nimble opponent kept pace, dodging and deflecting Sonya's edge with room to spare. As soon as Kyla's feet touched ground the Mongoose Witch went on the offensive, screaming bloody murder as she tried to swat the teenager aside like a pesky fly.

"Come… back… here… you… little… twat!" She huffed, punctuating every word with a swipe of one of her glowing talons, but Kyla remained just out of reach. With a flick of her wrist she left a half dozen quills quivering in the asphalt at the Meister's feet, forcing her to spring out of the way again as each blossomed into a brilliant violet explosion.

She came to rest some distance away, recovering her stance while Lila cackled through the settling smoke. Sonya's anxious face was reflected in her blade as she spoke. "This is bad Kyla, she's too fast-"

"Quiet." Kyla interrupted, her voice cold. Lila took a threatening step forward, drawing an arm back to throw another volley of quills when the blur of a black trench coat and the glint of a twirling blade sent her staggering back in surprise.

Maka faced Lila down with a look of determination fierce enough to send chills up the witch's spine. The youngest Albarn's childish pigtails floated innocently on a smoky breeze, Soul's blade hanging like some nightmarish fang at the end of his plain gray haft. Hers was a stare that left no room for negotiation, one that ensured that only one of the two would come away from their contest alive.

Lila flexed her talons as Kyla took her place at Maka's side, grinning in anticipation.

"Now, this is gonna be fun."

* * *

When Free sealed the entire Shibusen student body and staff inside an Independent Cube at the hundredth anniversary party, he assured Medusa that once someone was trapped within the magic box there was no means of escape. This was, to an extent, correct. An Independent Cube, completely sealed, is impenetrable and inescapable by any means.

What Free neglected to mention, as it was irrelevant at the time, was that by intentionally compromising the arcane seal that separates the interior and exterior of the cube one could create a dimensional 'trapdoor' allowing those privy to its location a clandestine way in and out of the Cube.

And it was thanks to one such trapdoor that Victor now walked the streets of Hedgeton, proud and terrible in his enchanted ebon carapace, the razor edge of his zweihander catching the light as he waded through the rubble of a bombed out building.

"Freeze! Identify yourself!" The shouted warning was accompanied by the distinct rattle of weapons being brought to bear and Victor turned to face a squad of stony faced riflemen eying him through their iron sights. A Bradley rumbled into view and Victor clenched his free hand into a fist, the air throbbing with his power.

None of the soldiers had soul perception, but they picked up on the subtle change and took that as their queue to attack, opening up into a cacophony of automatic gunfire. The torrent of bullets slammed into the Knight's enchanted plates with enough force to stagger him. But he dug in his heel and held fast, sparks flying as the tiny missiles glanced of his armor and kicked up little geysers of stone chips all around him.

The soldiers could only give a collective gasp of surprise when he lunged forward, bisecting two of their number with one swing of his immense blade. With a smooth motion he swept another aside, splattering blood and lacerated intestines across the concrete while the others back pedaled desperately to distance themselves from his ravenous Weapon.

With a whir the Bradley brought its autocannon to bear on the obsidian swordsman, firing a single thunderous round at point blank range, catching him in the shoulder with an AP shell before he could react. It was a blow that not even enchanted steel could withstand; the shot tore one of his bulky pauldrons clean from his body and exposed the pale, muscled flesh beneath. With a metallic roar Victor lunged, but the Bradley's cannon barked twice more and halted his charge.

The first shell took his other pauldron before the second smashed into his cuirass, lifting the Knight off his feet and slamming him into a derelict building across the street, kicking up a cloud of dust that rose two-stories into the air.

A few moments of silence brought the surviving soldiers back to the side of their hefty fighting vehicle, straining to see through the airborne debris. One lowered his carbine from his shoulder, releasing long held breath in relief.

"I think we got him."

The Knight's blade burst from the settling dust, spinning parallel to the ground like no Weapon its size should've. The kneeling soldiers lost their heads, those still standing fell with bodies halved at the waist, the great sword coming to rest as it pierced the Bradley's tread. A blur of ebony steel and pale flesh, Victor surged forward and forced two open palms against the vehicle's armored side.

His soul crashed against the inanimate metal with like an enraged beast, reducing the asphalt at his feet to gravel and sending the Bradley tumbling sideways into a shuttered storefront. The building crumbled around the armored vehicle, choking the street with dust.

Victor coughed, struggling with his cuirass for a moment before peeling the crumpled armor plate away from his chest and letting it drop to the ground, discarded. His heavily bruised torso heaved with his breathing, free from the confines of enchanted metal for the first time in too long. Only his helmet, gauntlets, and leggings remained. Everything else had been stripped away by the heat of battle.

"Looks like even enchanted armor has its limits."

He didn't bother to face Sid as the Knife Meister separated himself from the shadow of a nearby building, still fully clad in his own black battle gear. "Nothing lasts forever. Not magic. Not even Death will stand the test of time."

"You're not gonna last much longer either." Sid slipped Nygus from her sheath, flipping her into a reverse grip. "Victor Richter, the Reaper has marked you for death. I've come for your soul."

"Then you'll be sorely disappointed." Victor took hold of his helmet with both hands. "It is not mine to give." Sid sunk into a low stance as he lifted the helmet from his head, tossing it aside. Wispy blonde hair, almost white, fell down to his waist before swaying on a gentle breeze. Milky blue eyes stared ice cold from sunken sockets, hollow cheeks giving an impression of an emaciation of the soul, though the rest of his body burst with vigor and power.

"I suppose I should congratulate you. You'll be the first man to die twice." With a grunt he freed his immense blade from its resting place, taking the sword with both hands and leveling its point at his foe. "And this time, you'll stay dead."

* * *

Private Martinez clutched his carbine to his chest, fighting to quiet his breathing, trying desperately to blend in with the silence that blanketed his hiding place. Smoke and ash drifted in through shattered windows, gunfire sounded in mute pops from somewhere distant, muddled by the murky air.

Martinez had never seen combat before. Not like this. This hadn't been in their training. Guns, that's what he knew. In the first moments of battle, when he'd seen that their enemy had only their bare claws, his first thought was that this whole thing had been blown out of proportion. They'd be done and home in time for dinner.

He pinched his dog tag between his teeth, a nervous habit, as someone rapped at the door to the vacated apartment he'd taken shelter in.

"Come now, don't make this difficult. I know you're in there." The soldier smirked halfheartedly at the hint of annoyance in the blonde butcher's tone._ Maybe I'm getting to him. _At the creak of the turning door knob he sprung into action, rushing the exit, M4 blazing at full auto, filling the door with holes and the room with thunder. His carbine clicked empty just as his shoulder met door, crashing through the weakened wood and into his assailant with little resistance.

Not waiting to examine the damage he'd done Martinez took off down the hallway at a dead run, high stepping over the mulched remains of his comrades, bursting into the stairwell, practically leaping to the ground floor. The whole way down he heard the rumble and cough of an engine, the rush of his pursuer's steps mingling with his own. Out through the front door he went, out into the street, boot treads struggling for traction on the bloody asphalt.

But his escape was a short one; the toe of his boot caught on a severed human arm and sent him sprawling amongst the gore.

"Friend of yours?" Rafael mused, grinning. Martinez ground his teeth as he rose, casting his spent carbine aside and drawing his knife. Compared to that rumbling _monster _in the dapper teen's hands his knife felt horribly inadequate, but he'd lost his sidearm when his barricade had been overrun by the wolf creatures. _I'd give my left lung for a gun right now. _The boy revved his chainsword's engine and lunged, Martinez bracing himself for the blow.

But it never came. A blur of olive green trench coat and the glint of a blade sent both combatants staggering back, and Martinez looked up to find that a tall boy now stood between him and the enemy. In his right hand he clutched the hilt of a steely gray claymore, the Weapon shifting slightly as the boy looked back over his shoulder.

"Run."

The soldier didn't hesitate to comply, leaving the two swordsmen to settle their differences the only way they knew how.

* * *

Castle Prometheus seemed and was jarringly out of place, its sandy towers rising in stark contrast against the lush evergreen forest that encircled it. In those woods around it life went about its daily routine as if the evil that besieged Hedgeton didn't exist. A woodpecker pulled a plump grub from the bowels of a fallen tree, oblivious to the squirrel that darted through the underbrush nearby. A pair of dear tiptoed up to a bubbling stream, dipping their heads to drink deeply in the clear water as the pine trees that lined the banks gently swayed in the wind.

But even if the creatures around it were oblivious to the encroaching evil, the castle was not.

A tremor rippled through the forest, shaking its trees and sending its inhabitants scurrying about in panic. The ground surrounding the castle bulged, nearby pines fell, and with a crash a huge stone arm erupted from the earth.

The forest heaved as the castle worked to pry itself from its resting place, showering the woods with boulder sized clods of dirt when it finally succeeded in freeing itself from its earthen cradle.

Now the castle was perched several hundred feet above the ground, rising proudly from the shoulders of an immense golem composed of the same sandy stone as the castle itself. The colossus vaguely resembled the much smaller mannequins that Abraham employed around the castle, but its faceless head jutted out of its chest to accommodate the castle that dominated its frame from the shoulders up.

Abraham stood on the central tower's balcony, arms crossed over his chest and his brown robe billowing behind him on the wind that accompanied the increase in altitude. Before him, beyond several miles of forest, lay Hedgeton, and beyond Hedgeton sprawled the Pacific Ocean. Abraham could just make out the neon green Independent Cube in the harbor, silhouetted by the columns of smoke that rose from the city's interior. The enchanter adjusted his stance slightly as the castle shifted beneath him, and the golem Prometheus took a single thunderous step forward, laying the forest low as it started out to meet its fate.

* * *

**A/N:** Writer's block overcome, and just in time for the New Year. Hopefully I still have some readers after a month long hiatus. Heh...

Any way, I hope all you readers are having a good holiday. I feel like the last two chapters have been a little slow, this one less so, but next chapter the fights that got set up this chapter get underway and concluded. It's going to be pretty glorious, not to toot my own horn or anything. Also, Abraham reappeared. Bet you weren't expecting to see him again. Wonder who he's gonna stomp on with his castle?

Review my pretties!

-TheManInTheHat


	14. Deus Ex Machina

Deus Ex Machina

* * *

Roland had never thought himself a hateful man. Don't judge someone until you've walked a mile in their shoes, that's what his father had always told him. Sound advice that was proving _very _difficult to apply. Rafael and Marcus attacked with all the ferocity of demons, the chainsword laughing and screaming with glee as his barely composed Meister wielded him to deadly effect. For them this was a grudge match, an ultimatum. Roland, however, was far too busy guarding himself against Marcus's gnashing teeth to extrapolate any deeper meaning from the duel.

But for all the fierceness of his opponents the spark of confidence burned bright in Roland's brown eyes. With the satin of Alexa's hilt against his palms and the thrum of her soul in sync with his he felt that he could surmount any challenge. That he could win.

A wild swing left his opponent exposed and Roland lunged, dragging Alexa's blade across the dapper butcher's side, drawing first blood. Roaring Rafael lashed out with Marcus, his teeth tearing up concrete but biting no flesh as Roland avoided the blow. His new trench coat, Alexa's gift, billowed around him as he spun away from another slash. Seeing an opening he darted forward to smash a fist into Rafael's shoulder and sent him tumbling with a wavelength strike.

With a growl Rafael struggled to his feet, only to have Alexa's pommel brutally reacquaint him with the pavement. Roland loomed over him as he wheezed.

"We already beat you once asshole." Alexa hissed, her face reflected in her blade. "Give it up before you hurt yourself."

"Not on your life!" Marcus spat back. "Come on Raf, let's fuckin tear 'em apart!"

Gritting his teeth Rafael pulled himself to one knee, shoulders heaving as he locked eyes with Roland. The swordsman looked grim.

"I don't want to kill you." Roland said solemnly. Rafael cackled at his sincerity.

"You don't want to kill me?" He staggered to his feet and lunged, but Roland stepped past Marcus's screaming edge and folded the chainswordsman over his knee. Rafael teetered away coughing, taking a moment to catch his breath.

"You're an idiot. Look around you, Roland Frey!" Rafael threw his arms wide, gesturing to the buildings that rose around them like charred, hollow trees. "This is war! The city is burning and the streets are wet with blood." He swayed, unsteady, and leaned against Marcus for support as he pointed a wild eyed, accusatory finger at Roland. "You're all goddamn hypocrites! You serve Death, but now that your master surrounds you with his works you're having second thoughts?" After a few gasping breaths he straightened, snarling. "Mercy died with the blue sky."

Several moments of uncomfortable silence followed. Alexa looked at her Meister with uncertainty. Though he didn't much show it, she could feel in his soul that Rafael's words had shaken him. They might've just been banter but Roland saw in them a distinct intellectual obstacle. Because, unsettling as it was, they had a point. He rushed to rationalize his position.

"No, you're wrong Rafael. Death represents order. This… this is murder." He took a firmer grip on Alexa's hilt, his confidence returning. "This is chaos. And if you are the vassal of chaos, then I will strike you down."

"Spoken like a true death dealer." Rafael nodded slowly. "But chaos is tricky. It springs up like a weed, and wherever you cut it down more rise to take its place. You can pour a slab of concrete on top of it, but it will always slip through the cracks. It's a force of nature." He smiled as a ribbon of electricity arced along Alexa's blade. "But I suppose you already knew that."

Trench coat an olive green blur Roland lunged, Alexa trailing electricity as her Meister forced Rafael back with a flurry of slashes and stabs. But now he kept pace, deftly avoiding Alexa's electrified blade and using Marcus's immense size to force her point into the pavement. With Roland's Weapon so entrapped Rafael cracked him across the jaw with a closed fist and split his lip. Growling, Roland returned the favor, knocking Rafael back with a wavelength saturated punch and bringing a freed Alexa down over his head. With a handful of sputtered curses Rafael caught Alexa on Marcus's edge, retaliating with a quick kick to the gut. Marcus roared with frustration as Roland blocked the following chop.

The two struggled against each other for a few tense moments, Marcus snapping at Alexa from his weapon form.

"I'm gonna paint the streets with his blood. I'm gonna decorate a fuckin' Christmas tree with his guts." He gloated, practically foaming at the mouth. "I'm gonna eat his soul right in front of you, and then I'm gonna-"

"SHUT-!" A blinding ribbon of electricity leapt from her blade to his, travelling along his length and jumping from his hilt to his Meister's wrist. "-UP!"

There was a crackling _pop_ and Rafael danced away cursing with sleeve alight, and as he struggled to put out the spreading flames Roland snapped his head back with a wavelength charged uppercut.

He staggered, spat blood, and examined his wrist. Alexa's parting gift had not only charred his suit jacket but the flesh underneath as well. The skin at his wrist was seared crispy black, heat blisters had already formed and popped, and they wept clear fluid where he'd expected blood.

Alexa caught a glimpse of the wound and beamed triumphantly. "Electrical burns aren't much fun, huh?"

Rafael snorted ruefully, then grinned. Alexa's smile disappeared; shark teeth showed between his lips.

"Actually, I rather enjoyed that." Marcus cackled as he felt his Meister slip into the embrace of Madness. "I'd like to return the favor, but Marcus is a bit crude for electric attacks." He looked up, his mad grin sending shivers down Roland's spine. Alexa blade crackled in anticipation. "How about death by a thousand cuts?"

Marcus's barking laughter took a maniacal, gleeful edge as Rafael took firm hold of his hilt with both hands and raised him above his head, blade pointing defiantly skywards. Their souls ballooned with power and Marcus took on a deep red glow. Roland sunk into a low stance, bracing himself.

"Soul Resonance!" They cried in unison, the roar of the chainsword's engine reaching fever pitch. "Hydra!"

With a flash of red Marcus's blade disappeared. Instead a dozen bladed chains sprouted from his hilt, each writhing and twisting through the air as if it had a mind of its own. Rafael laughed once, then grew stern.

"Marcus." The chains rattled with excitement. "Kill them."

* * *

"Watch the quills!"

Teeth gritted Maka planted a boot on the hood of a parked car, heeding her Weapon's shouted warning, levering herself skyward as three glowing spines buried themselves in the sidewalk behind her. Silhouetted by the following explosion she spun through the air, forcing her enemy back with two quick slashes from Soul's curved blade. Lila grinned fiercely as the scythe hissed harmlessly across her magic sheathed arms.

"Cute." The witch mused, huffing as Maka leapt to dodge her grasping claws. Before she could pursue the Scythe Tech any further Kyla darted forward, slipping under her talons and snapping her head back with a quick kick to the chin. Lila rolled with the impact, handspringing away, handily avoiding Sonya's edge as Kyla slashed the Demon Hoop at her with a snarl.

"We've got to keep her close!" Maka shouted, twisting serpentine through a volley of Pin Missiles. The bright lances only scored a few smoking holes in her trench coat, leaving Kyla to marvel at her agility with such an ungainly Weapon as a scythe.

Taking her peer's advice to heart she surged forwards again, Sonya a blur as she twirled around Kyla's lithe silhouette. Violet eyes gleaming with predatory intent she attacked, sparks and crimson spray dancing along Sonya's blade as she bit indiscriminately at flesh and ethereal armor, the witch inundated by the sheer volume of attacks. Roaring frustration at the sudden stinging pain she caught the Demon Hoop in a magic sheathed palm and tossed the Weapon-Meister pair aside in a violent thrashing motion. Kyla was sent crashing through a store front window and with a sneer Lila drew back an arm to prepare another Pin Missile attack, crying out as Soul cut into the flesh of her shoulder.

Maka scowled, pressing her scythe deeper into Lila's unprotected shoulder. Blood flowed freely from the witch's most recent wound, making her already tattered leather jacket slick with gore. She hacked a cough.

"Is that it?"

The Scythe Tech roared, freeing Soul's blade and smashing his pommel into the small of Lila's back. Her knees quaked at the impact but she refused to yield, blocking the ferocious slash that followed with a raised arm only to be sent sprawling by another pommel strike to the back of the head. Though dazed from the blow she staggered upright, swatting half-heartedly at Maka, sinking before the blow could connect as Kyla's thrown Weapon lodged herself in the witch's side. Tearing the Demon Hoop free she teetered, letting Sonya clatter away unharmed as she swayed.

Kyla snatched her partner from the pavement as Maka surged forward again, watching silently while the two struggled against each other. She dusted a few granular chunks of safety glass from her torn orange hoodie while her partner spoke.

"We've hit her so many times! How is this witch still fighting?" Sonya asked, panting within her weapon form.

"It doesn't matter." Kyla said with a menacing edge to her voice. "We're pulling out all the stops."

Sonya nodded, resolute. "Right."

Both closed their eyes in a moment of concentration. Their wavelengths meshed seamlessly, swelling with power as their resonance rate skyrocketed. With her keen Soul Perception Maka noticed the change. Lila had no such forewarning.

"Soul Resonance!" They cried out in unison, eyes snapping open. In a flash of red Sonya's outer edge was ringed with four large triangular blades, her purple wrapped grips shifting into more dedicated handholds that left her inner edge uninterrupted. Soul's straining, Sonya's blades grew sharper, their surfaces becoming mirrors and flashing in the light.

"LUX-" Kyla's knuckles paled as she tightened her grip, the Hoop Meister's feet wide-set in a stable stance. "-HASTA!" In perfect unison Sonya's blades rotated to form a parabolic lens in her center.

Maka dove clear as a brilliant needle-thin beam of light raced towards them, gasping at the sudden heat. The street beneath the beam liquefied instantly, bubbling angrily as the asphalt became soggy and lost its consistency. A hole appeared in the granite store front opposite her, glowing red hot where the beam had passed through and set most of the furniture and insulation inside alight. Lila staggered back in surprise as the laser missed by nearly three feet before blinking from existence.

A near miss, but close enough.

Lila gave a blood curdling scream as her clothes and hair burst into flames. She tore desperately at her burning jacket, trying to snuff out her hair as she thrashed and screeched in agony. Maka could only gape in silent shock at the spectacle. Luckily, Soul was there to speak for her.

"Oh… shit."

In a flash of red Sonya returned to her human form, falling to her knees with a whimper before doubling over to throw up. Kyla was also left swooning from the strain of the technique, eyes glazed as she panted and fought to stay standing. She took a few wobbly steps forward and assumed her fighting stance while Sonya continued to wretch by the curb.

"You BITCH!" Lila howled, lowering her hands to reveal her hideously burnt face. Clothes and hair still smoldering she threw open her arms and chanted her mantra. "Weasels, weasel, mongoose!" She braced herself, claws poised as she glared at Kyla.

"Naga Flayer: KAMAITACHI!" The asphalt underfoot cracked as Lila pushed off, disappearing in a flash of violet as she blurred forward, almost too fast to see. Kyla twisted to avoid the blow too late; Lila was already past her.

She blinked at the trail of blood that led from her feet to her foe. With a trembling hand she ran suddenly clammy fingers across her middle, wincing at the warm wetness that greeted them. On a reflex she pressed her hand against the gaping wound, inhaling sharply as the skin of her palm brushed the tender flesh of her bloody insides, literally holding herself together as viscera threatened to tumble from her rent midriff to the blood-slick asphalt at her feet.

The corner of her mouth twitched, as if she had some verbal retort, but she could only gurgle as crimson trickled down her chin.

Sonya screamed as Kyla crumpled unmoving to the pavement. Blinking back tears of rage Maka threw herself at the witch, Soul's iridescent Witch Hunter blade roaring to life as the two clashed yet again.

Lila's whole silhouette was wreathed in violet flames, her disfigured face twisted into a fanged snarl, her eyes feral. The claws on her hands and feet had all twisted themselves into wickedly curved sickles, flashing as she parried Maka's blows with impossible speed and quickly put the Scythe Tech on the defensive. But she refused to yield, and with a flourish cleaved Lila's left arm clean from her body.

Blood fountained from the wound, painting a dark red crescent on the pavement as Lila twisted to slash at Maka with her remaining arm. She caught the witch's sickle claws on Soul's haft, crying out as Lila took firm hold and lunged forward, slamming the pair into the granite wall of a building.

Maka tried to push her away but the witch would have none of it. With a grunt she pulled back and again smashed the petite Meister into the wall, opening her hand so that one of her talons dug into Maka's shoulder.

"It'll be over soon. A shame really, I expected so much more from the girl who killed the Heretic Witch. Still, you Shibusen brats are just a riot." She cackled, licking a few drops of her own blood from Maka's cheek. The Meister recoiled in disgust, noting with horror that Lila's ethereal armor had sealed the wound where her arm had been severed. "But we can't play long, I've got unfinished business."

"No." Lila's head jerked sideways as a blue wavelength slug flattened itself against her temple. "_We _have unfinished business."

She knew that voice.

Maka cried out as she was thrown against a parked car, already forgotten by Lila as she turned to face her opponent. Chris stood a block away; eyes cold, Claire's barrel still smoking.

"I suppose we do, Gunfighter." Lila growled. She sunk into a low stance, remaining claw poised.

"No one's gonna interrupt us this time." Claire sneered, her reflection visible on the barrel of her weapon form. "We're about to wreck you, skunk-head."

"Soul Resonance!" The asphalt beneath her shattered as Lila pushed off, clawed feet scoring the pavement as she tore forward at impossible speed Claire glowed, enveloping Chris's forearm in blue. Lila swung as the Gun Meister leveled his still glowing arm at her face. "BRONTIDE!"

Blinding light flooded the street, accompanied by the deafening clap of thunder. Again and again the booming report sounded, Maka raising her arms to shield her face from the brilliant flash that preceded each stormy peal. The ground trembled with every thunderous impact, tiny bits of debris raining down about Maka's head, car alarms that had been set off by the commotion barely audible over the barrage.

Then, silence. Maka lowered her arms and opened her eyes.

The street was pocked with smoking, car sized craters. Chris stood, panting, arm still outstretched. His right arm, starting just below the elbow, was completely encased in a large ivory white cestus forged into the smooth shape of a wolf's head. A lining of fur, the same golden blonde as Claire's hair, was visible where the gunfighter's arm disappeared into the hefty gauntlet. A steely gray cannon barrel was nestled in the metal wolf's gaping maw, smoke curling lazily from its end.

A lonesome looking violet orb bobbed gently before them. Claire spoke, somber.

"That's number one hundred."

Chris let his arm fall to his side. This moment, this victory, was the culmination of two years of training, dozens of missions, and countless visits to the Dispensary. Blood and sweat. He'd finally accomplished what he'd set out to do on his first day at the DWMA; he'd created a Death Scythe.

It left him feeling… hollow.

Sonya's wails were punctuated by the distant clatter of gunfire.

* * *

Glowing ethereal, neon green, the Independent Cube sat unmoving in Hedgeton Harbor. The frigid waters of the Pacific lapped with only a subdued rumble against its iridescent sides, seeming hesitant to disturb the arcane barrier's contents. It was as if the whole ocean held its breath in anxious anticipation. It wasn't the only one.

A hundred miles away the _Abraham Lincoln _stood sentinel, waves splitting before the gray prows of the aircraft carrier and its escorts. A _Ticonderoga_-class cruiser and two _Arleigh Burke_-class destroyers were arrayed in loose formation around the immense floating runway, watching their charge with keen electronic eyes as they awaited the call to action. The motley fleet had been called together with hardly a day's notice, barely enough ships had been available to meet the requirements for the Carrier Strike Group. But the four vessels had enough collective firepower to level an entire city, and then some, and they were the first line of defense against whatever the Independent Cube held in store. Against the poorly understood threat of magic, it seemed more than enough.

But it was time to put that logic to the test; the Independent Cube flickered for a moment then blinked from sight, leaving Raven's Roost bare. The response was immediate. Aboard the four ships red combat lights filled cramped halls and berths with their bloody glow, the tension palpable at each sailor's station as they cycled through the rehearsed motions that brought their vast arsenals to bear on the unseen enemy.

Raven's Roost sat unmoved among the waves while the cruisers shuddered a hundred miles out to sea, disgorging missiles from the vertical launch tubes on their decks in pillars of smoke and fire. A hundred breaths were held in tandem as the weapons drew a smoky arc skyward, countless motes of white falling towards the lonely rock like fiery snowflakes.

Missile after missile dove headfirst into the lichen-riddled island, throwing chunks of blackened masonry a hundred feet skyward, the surrounding waters frothing madly as a glowering inferno swept outwards from the blasted stone. The barrage lasted for nearly a minute. When the smoke and fire finally cleared, Raven's Roost had disappeared, crumbled into the ocean under the assault. A hundred held breaths sighed relief.

On the bridge of the _Abraham Lincoln_, the crew's subdued celebratory chatter was cut short by the shriek of a klaxon.

"Sir, sonar just picked up an unidentified contact near Raven's Roost." A sailor shouted from his console, face paling as his eyes flickered over the onscreen readout. "It's huge! And… it's surfacing!"

* * *

Victor was fast. Fast for someone wielding an eight foot long sword. Fast for someone who'd just been shot three times by a small tank. But Sid was faster.

The agile Knife Meister twisted, avoiding an incoming blow, lunging only to have Nygus deflected by Victor's raised blade. Pitching forward with a grunt the zombie rolled under a sweeping slash, snapping a booted heel across Victor's jaw as he sprang over the blade when it returned for another strike. Nygus whistled towards the Knight's unarmored side only to stop bare inches short as Victor levered the pommel of his zweihander into Sid's gut, winding the Meister and throwing him back.

Sid landed heavily, combat boots fighting for traction as he skidded to a halt several feet away. Rushing to press his advantage Victor threw himself forward to skewer the zombie through the middle. But his blade met empty air as Sid disappeared, burrowing out of sight with uncanny speed and leaving only a gaping hole in the pavement.

Turning slowly with sword held ready Victor waited for the zombie to strike. His roaming gaze swept the surrounding storefronts, looking for any sign of his foe, but there was none. Seconds pregnant with tension passed with excruciating slowness, prompting Victor to try another tactic.

"Did it ever occur to you that I am in the right? That all of this serves a greater purpose?" He shouted to the empty street. "Do you ever wonder just how much Death hides from the world? From his subordinates?" Barely audible with the rumble of distant explosions, Victor heard shattered glass crunch under a booted foot. "From you?" Shuffling, somewhere behind him. The Knight grunted approval.

Knife and teeth bared Sid erupted from the pavement, cursing as Victor spun and caught Nygus with an ebony gauntlet. Disengaging Sid snapped the Knight's head back with a quick uppercut and drew a line of bright red across his battered chest with Nygus. Victor gritted his teeth as Sid landed a stinging roundhouse kick on the fresh wound, lashing out with Gregory to put some distance between himself and the nimble Meister.

"Whatever he's hiding, there's good reason for it." Sid huffed as he avoided Gregory's edge. "In the wrong hands the knowledge he possesses could plunge the world into chaos."

"And what makes you think his are the right hands?" Victor bisected a parked car as Sid rolled clear. "What gives him the right to hold that power over us?" He lunged after the zombie, wavelength saturated palm connecting with a light pole on the sidewalk. It snapped like a matchstick.

"Death is a force for good in the world! People are short-sighted, distracted by their petty squabbles. Death is decisive. Death acts-"

"Death is an impotent god! Crippled, entombed in his desert citadel!" They clashed again, Sid struggling to defend himself against Victor's assault. But the Knight would not relent. "Does he guard you from harm? Does he lend you his strength in your direst moment of need? No…" With a sudden kick to the gut he dropped Sid to his knees, wheezing. "In the end you are like me. Alone."

In a flash Nygus sprang from Sid's clenched fist, Victor snarling as she dropped a bandage wrapped ankle on the crook of his neck in a ferocious axe kick. Without missing a beat she spun into a round house, pale blue eyes hard set with determination as the Knight staggered back. "That's where you're wrong Victor. A Meister is never alone."

"Soul Resonance!"

Sid surged forward; snatching Nygus out of midair as she returned to weapon form. Victor scowled and rushed to meet them as the zombie's dagger was enveloped with light. But the blow never connected. Sid stopped several feet short, planting Nygus in the asphalt.

"Compulsive Burial!"

Darkness engulfed him as the ground disappeared from under Victor's feet. He fell into moist cold, blinded when the rectangular portal to the surface closed. Water splashed up around his armored ankles as he landed, his nose wrinkling at the stench that pervaded the cramped tunnel. Light filtered in from an overhead grate.

Sid had dropped him into a storm drain.

With a crash amplified to deafening volume by the enclosed space, Sid erupted from the upper wall of the tunnel, blurring past Victor and disappearing into the water at his feet, leaving a weeping gash in his side. Again and again Sid repeated the tactic, overwhelming Victor with a flurry of opportune slices, using the architecture of the tunnel to attack from every possible angle. Without his full suit of armor the Knight was barely able to deflect a handful of the attacks, and soon his face, arms, and chest were crisscrossed with dozens of deep cuts. Gregory fell with a splash as Nygus bit at his wrist. Still, Victor refused to yield.

When Sid next burst from the wall Victor was ready. With a roar he threw himself at the zombie, grabbing his wrists to stay Nygus's sting. The two grappled for a few livid moments, Victor speaking between breaths.

"None of this matters Sid."

"Shut up." Sid grunted, trying to force Nygus's point into Victor's neck. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of killing you?"

Victor laughed. "Do you have any idea what happened in Tibet? Do you have any idea what I _am_?" The hairs on the back of Sid's neck stood on end. "I am perfect resonance made manifest, I am soul synchronicity given form, I am two made one!" He had no Soul Perception, but he could _feel _Victor's spirit swell, bristling with malice and power, pricking his blue skin with needles of heat. Quickly wriggling out of his grasp, Sid buried Nygus in Victor's side. A perfect kidney shot. The zombie's heart sank when it was Nygus who cried out in pain.

"Mine is the soul of a Weapon and Meister combined!"

Ignoring the Demon Knife still lodged in his abdomen Victor dug in his heels and thrust an open hand forward with crushing force. Simultaneously retrieving Nygus and twisting to the side, Sid avoided the palm thrust completely.

The Knight's wavelength was less merciful.

Unseen, Victor's monstrous soul tore forth from his palm with a fury. The concrete walls of the storm drain peeled back and snapped like desiccated wood shavings before its hideous strength. Sid was sent flying, tumbling across the wet floor like a skipped stone, disappearing in the maelstrom of flying debris.

With Sid nowhere to be seen, he let his hand fall, chest heaving from the strain, blood pouring from his countless wounds. The storm drain before him looked like it had lost a fight with a berserk, bus-sized plumber's snake. Victor spat blood into the water at his feet.

"That's that."

A dark shape rose up from the floor behind him. Something glinted in the dim light.

Victor inhaled sharply as Sid plunged Nygus into his back.

"Not quite."

Sid gave the knife a vicious twist and, at long last, the Knight's legs buckled. He fell to his knees with a splash and a shuddering breath, only vaguely aware of Sid circling him warily, waiting to see if he would stand again.

"Any regrets?" The zombie asked curtly.

"None." Victor answered. "Perhaps someday you will understand, but-" He hacked a bloody cough, noting with strange calmness the darkness engulfing his field of view, the cold numbness in his hands. "A final request."

Realizing victory was imminent, Sid lowered his knife. "Within reason."

"Tell Madeline…" The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. His eyes slid shut.

"I made a bigger fish."

* * *

Roland fought on. Ducking, weaving, barely a half-step ahead, heart racing. Marcus's chains, a dozen blood thirsty scintillating serpents, shredded everything around him, trying but failing to secure a hit on the swordsman thanks to his Weapon's shouted warnings. Here in the rubble, in the heat of battle, with the thunder of war ringing in his ears and Alexa's soul pulsing against his own he felt strong, alive!

Happy?

"Dead ahead!" Alexa cried.

He side stepped, trench coat billowing, one of Marcus's chains screeching in protest as he deflected it with the flat of his blade. The other eleven descended on him, Rafael roaring frustration as his quarry leapt clear again. Seeing a brief opening the student lunged only to have his blade stopped short by several serrated tendrils. Alexa crackled, and in a flash sent squirming ribbons of electricity racing along Marcus's chains and towards his Meister.

The dapper butcher cried out, almost dropping Marcus as malicious currents of electricity ravaged the musculature of his arm. Retaliating quickly the chainsword swept Roland aside, throwing him against a fire hydrant. But Marcus wasn't done yet.

Wrapping the swordsman in a stinging embrace Marcus lifted him from the pavement and smashed him through a fiber glass bus shelter and into the storefront behind it. Roland gasped in pain, thinking he felt a rib crack on impact, but it was hard to tell with Marcus's teeth biting at him through his clothes. Spreading stains of red were already visible against the olive green of his trench coat. He lost his grip on Alexa when the chainsword slammed him against the wall a second time, the Demon Sword crying out as she herself was constricted and unable to help as Roland was dragged across the street and pinned against the side of an abandoned Bradley.

There was a pause as the combatants rushed to catch their breath, Rafael speaking between gulps of air.

"For servants of Death… you two seem loath of his embrace." He huffed. "We are all rational people here, so why do you resist the inevitability of your end so vehemently?"

"We didn't come here to die!" Alexa shouted, ignoring the flare of pain as she strained against her bonds.

"Of course not! You came here to _kill_!" Rafael spat. "Goddamn you! Hypocrites, hiding behind your righteousness! You are no better than me, no better than the Knight! No better than any of us! Why can't you see?"

"No, no!" There was an edge of desperation in her voice. "What separates us from you is that we would never purposely take an innocent life! No matter what!"

Marcus barked a laugh. "What is innocence?"

Alexa's eyes darted to her Meister, but he was silent. And it killed her. Because she knew by his mute grimace that he was being _persuaded_. That she might be wrong. That she was losing him.

"There's little use pondering it really." Rafael began, addressing Roland matter of factly. "Because you'll be dead soon. You might be avenged, but I will kill you all the same. I have chosen your fate."

Her gut rejected everything that Rafael said without a moment's hesitation. But as much as she hated it in her mind they held a grain of truth. She couldn't do this alone. She needed Roland's reason, she needed his words. She needed him to say-

"No." Rafael blinked, taken aback by Roland's single syllable retort. The blonde butcher's voice dripped with venom.

"What do you mean _no_?"

"Fate is for the superstitious. Fate is an excuse for apathy. Fate is the scapegoat of the irresponsible. We make our fates." Roland's eyes were bright with conviction, hard as the wood of their color. "Our choices matter." He wrapped his hands around one of Marcus's tendrils, the Chainsword roaring as he was bombarded by the swordsman's wavelength, dropping the Weapon and Meister both. Roland's coat and shirt had been reduced to little more than rags, so with a growl he tore them away to expose the bandage wrapped and bloodstained torso beneath. His fists trembled as red seeped between his knuckles. "I'll shape the future with these hands! And I'm starting with this choice- Alexa!"

She was at his side in a flash, fleeing into his grasp in a blur of white.

"Soul Resonance!"

His forearm was enveloped in her glow, twisting into the familiar shape of the wolf head cestus. Already he felt power flowing to his tired limbs as Alexa's soul buoyed his own fading strength. As their resonance rate rose he couldn't help but smile. At this intimate distance he could make out her spirit with ease. Her eccentricities, her temper, her strength, all landmarks in the geography of her wavelength. And it killed him.

"SPARK!"

Marcus's chains screamed towards the pair with a fury, only to be deflected by a backhanded strike from Roland's onyx cestus. He caught a stray chain in his bare hand, goring his palm as it squirmed to escape, punishing the Dark Weapon with a burst of his wavelength.

"You renamed it!" Alexa exclaimed, part surprise and part joy, a blue eye rolling in its socket to get a better look at her Meister. "You remembered!"

He gave a taught smile, eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses. "How could I forget?"

Then they were moving. Running, ducking, leaping, he was at Rafael with Alexa's muzzle pointed skyward. Her blade emerged with a rasp but the crushing chop that followed was halted as Marcus's dozen chains wrapped around the Demon Sword to hold her still. They struggled for a moment before the Dark Weapon's tendrils flashed white and his Meister's blazer began to smolder, Rafael's face twisting in agony under the onslaught of another electrical attack. Realizing his partner's anguish Marcus separated from Alexa's crackling blade, recoiling as Rafael was forced back by the swordsman's renewed offensive.

Roland fought on. Long stepping, lunging, blade sputtering sparks, heart racing. Brimming with pride and power they scorched the ground at their feet with every blow. Marcus's chains scintillated in the ruddy light, frantically whipping through the air to guard his Meister while he evaded Alexa's edge.

"And you're wrong on another count Rafael." Said the swordsman, his tattered bandages loosening as he twisted to strike at his opponent. "We are different from you because we know that everybody has the right to life. We defend the many that cannot defend themselves against those with no regard for life. As soon as you took a life in the name of power, your own was forfeit." The dressings fell away at last and revealed two scars. The first Marcus recognized as the one he'd given him during their battle in Egypt. The second he could only guess at. Pale raised skin, perhaps a burn, but it took him a moment to recognize the five pronged blotch on Roland's chest as a _hand print_.

It distracted them just long enough for Roland to close the distance. Marcus barely stopped Alexa inches from his Meister's abdomen, cocooning the snarling cestus's blade in razor wire and holding the pair fast. When the scarlet headed Demon Sword retaliated with another electrical attack Marcus, in a moment of split second brilliance, plunged a chain into the asphalt and harmlessly grounded out the charge. Unwilling to lose his momentum the swordsman pulled his arm free from the cestus and lunged.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Alexa flashed white and fled from Marcus's grip back into her human form. Roland buried a wavelength charged fist in the chainswordsman's gut. The street beneath them cracked, Rafael felt something in him snap. He smirked.

"Might makes right."

Rafael crumpled, Marcus flashed back to human form, his chains writhing about his head like serpents. Roaring fury the Dark Weapon's dozen tendrils lashed out almost too fast to see. They twisted together; a screeching, squirming double helix of razor blades, scattering a screen of stone chips and spraying blood.

Just like that Roland was gone, replaced by a red smear on the pavement.

Blue eyes gaping in terror and disbelief, his Weapon stared with jaw quivering at the sight of the nightmarish crimson smudge. Her breath caught, her heart fluttered in mute hysteria, her head pounded, light with nausea.

"No…" Her diaphragm twitched. "No…" Her voice broke. Marcus wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "No!"

The Dark Weapon hacked blood as Alexa skewered him on her bladed arm. "NO!" She levered her weaponized limb upwards, tearing deep into his ribcage. "NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!" Vicious golden ribbons arced from her elbow to her blade's tip, the Dark Weapon's limbs seizing as Alexa mustered a furious electrical charge. He was dead almost instantly but she held him there, screaming that single syllable of dissent over and over, letting his body thrash as she cooked him from the inside out. It would be several seconds before she dropped the charred body to the curb. All the while tears carved slick streaks down her cheeks to her chin.

Chest heaving on the verge of unconsciousness Alexa staggered to the spot where her Meister had stood. To her knees she sank, shoulders shuddering with every hiccupping sob. "No…" She whispered.

Rafael laid on his back, across from her, red stained blazer jumping with shallow breaths. "I don't want to die alone." He confessed, sheepish, ashamed. Apologetic.

On the bloody ground between them rested a pair of metal rimless glasses, one of the rectangular lenses split by a crack. Booming footsteps echoed in the distance.

* * *

_DEADE was. DEADE knew that it was. It didn't know how it knew that it was, it simply did. And so, it was._

… **Cardiovascular contaminant detected-activate primary immune response. Foreign wavelength signatures detected… designate all foreign contacts: Hostile. Aggregate hardware integrity: 99.8759%... 99.8428%... 99.8163%... EOV output regulator integrity: 32%. **

_DEADE knew that it was a he. DEADE knew that he had two mothers and a father. One mother was a hat, the other was a claw. Father watched. Father always watched. Father and one mother were dead, the other mother was gone. He missed them. DEADE was alive._

**!WARNING! Incoming entities detected: projectile-mechanical. Impact imminent. Activate countermeasures… musculoskeletal density: 115%. Triangulating points of origin…**

_DEADE had a body. DEADE had two arms and two legs, two hands and two feet. Each hand had five fingers, each foot had five toes. He had a head. His head had two eyes and a mouth. DEADE knew he had a body because he felt. He felt pain._

**Points of origin triangulated. Countermeasures activated… designate points of origin A1, A2, A3, A4. Firing.**

_And the pain made him afraid._

Flashing brilliant blinding gold four spears split the sky, their aim straight and true, and the warships of the _Abraham Lincoln's _Carrier Strike Group disappeared in pillars of fire. The shockwave stirred the clouds overhead and sent a thirty foot tall wall of water radiating outwards from the blasts. Missiles rose from the Hedgeton docks as cloistered Stinger teams open fired. Nine shining beams lanced out in retaliation and erased the Hedgeton waterfront, turning six miles of urban coastline into vitrified hellscape.

**!WARNING! EOV output regulator integrity: 13%. Aggregate hardware integrity: 87.249%... Repair routines operating and maximum capacity…**

Two hundred and sixty three feet tall, DEADE towered above the waters of Hedgeton Bay, the ocean roiling about his waist. Despite his newfound immensity DEADE was a lanky titan, narrow shouldered and long armed. Thin, almost ropey. The claws that had adorned his hands and feet were absent. His previously featureless face now sported two small round eyes and a maw lined with large spade shaped teeth permanently bared in a snarl by absent lips. His throat glowed, fiery inner light overflowing and filling the back of his mouth with the color of the rising sun. His eyes were of molten gold, seething irisless orbs that burned in their sockets like tiny stars. Rising gently from where it was imbedded in his solar plexus was a third sphere, identical to the other two save for being larger.

_DEADE could see. He saw the city. He saw souls. The souls made him afraid because, since he could **see**, he **saw **that each had the power to make him, DEADE, dead. They were even scarier because every soul he **saw **saw him and was afraid. If he was afraid of them who were afraid of him then what was he? Was he?_

Heat rolled off the titan in waves, distorting the air, sending steam billowing up around him as the ocean boiled at his proximity. The unseen sea floor buckled as he walked, his first steps onto land heralded only by the crack of the vitrified plain beneath him. No missiles rose to meet him as he waded deeper into the city, buildings tumbling before him, the defender's abandoned fortifications reduced to loose gravel under his feet.

_DEADE was. He knew he was because he feared he wasn't, because he feared these souls that feared he would make them not be would make him wasn't. And DEADE wanted to be._

Several dozen blocks away, jarringly out of place among the skyscrapers of downtown Hedgeton, stood an immense golem with thick stone arms hanging limply at its sides. It was nearly forty feet taller than DEADE and far bulkier, made all the more imposing by the castle perched on its shoulders.

Abraham's robe billowed around him as Prometheus took a rumbling step forward, DEADE's eyes burning with desperate fear and confusion as the golem took a second. At the third step DEADE took two backwards and squawked a warning. Abraham grimaced.

"It's not your fault." The Enchanter consoled, sure the construct could hear him even over the gulf of space that separated them. "Victor made you this way, and he made you wrong." He doubted DEADE's fledgling intellect could fully grasp what he was saying, but Abraham felt compelled to explain himself. "He has done this with good intentions. But despoiling your nascent divinity with Madness… this is unforgivable. A second Mad God would only hasten coming events. To prevent the suffering of many, you must bear the punishment for his transgressions." DEADE continued to shrink away, snapping and shrieking like a cornered animal, failing to deter Abraham's advancing colossus. "For this, I am deeply sorry."

Abraham tightened his grip on the balcony's railing and fought to stay upright as Prometheus and DEADE collided, crashing together with enough force to set off car alarms for miles around. Like Olympians in an ancient Greek frieze the two grappled, straining, struggling for footing, nearby skyscrapers groaning in protest as their foundations shifted under the duress of the contest. DEADE's heels tore the streets asunder as the golem gained the upper hand and forced him back several blocks. They burst through a several story parking garage and the Doom Engine bit into Prometheus's shoulder, teeth punching through several layers of enchanted sandstone before the golem hooked a hand under his front teeth and pried him off, slamming him face first into a nearby building before sending him tumbling through a handful of corporate offices.

With nimbleness not befitting such a large creature DEADE caught himself on all fours. For a moment they paused, Prometheus seemingly oblivious to the bite that had been taken out of its shoulder as it eyed the beast crouched in the rubble. It hurt Abraham to see him like this. They'd had such high hopes for him. He was supposed to be a god. He was supposed to save the world. But Victor had ruined him, soiled the young god with insanity!

And now he was no more than a monster. _No._ He thought grimly. _Not a monster._ Crouched, chest heaving, jaws hanging open, molten eyes boring into his very soul with fiery intensity, the air around him shimmering with heat, he was just an animal. Abraham sighed sadly and averted his gaze.

"Put it down Prometheus."

DEADE launched himself at the golem like a wound spring only to be caught by the wrists and locked into another shoving match with the sandy colossus. Feet shredding the ground as they fought for traction he struggled free himself, but Prometheus would have none of it. The Doom Engine gave a throaty scream as Prometheus suddenly twisted his wrists with enough force to break them outright. But he rushed forward with berserk determination, slipping free from the golem's grasp and swiping at the castle on its shoulders.

Abraham fell back as the enormous purple-black hand passed within a dozen feet of his balcony before shattering the tower above Prometheus's undamaged arm and taking a chunk out of the wall.

Now it was Prometheus who tried to shove its opponent away but it was DEADE who held fast, catching the golem's arm at the wrist when it tried to knock him aside. With a crushing bite to the elbow he tore the limb clean off and snapped it across Prometheus's featureless face like a Morningstar.

The Master Enchanter clutched at the balcony railing as his masterpiece staggered under him, sweat visible on his brow at the sudden turning of tables. _No more play._ "Prometheus, take the Eye!" His colossus obliged.

DEADE cocked his arm back with every intention of beating Prometheus to pieces with its own severed limb but shrieked in pain when the golem slammed its remaining fist against the molten orb embedded in his solar plexus. When he surged forward to strike a killing blow the second punch sunk into the orb. It bulged for a moment and then burst, showering the street below with a searing magma-like substance. The golem elicited another scream from the Doom Engine when the fist continued straight through his abdomen, shoving past his internal organs, coiling in a vice grip around his spinal column, and _squeezing_.

DEADE's eyes blazed, face to face with the featureless visage of Prometheus, unwilling to move for fear of snapping his entrapped spine. That face terrified him. No eyes, no mouth. It was unfeeling. A machine. And it was going to kill him.

_DEADE wasn't evil. DEADE was afraid. _

His jaws hinged open in a screech. Prometheus did not flinch at the display.

_DEADE was alive._

The air shimmered with heat as a ball of light was gathering at the back of his throat, its glow overflowing from his mouth and bathing the golem's face in harsh golden rays.

_DEADE wanted to be._

A brilliant beam lanced out from between the young god's teeth. The energy spear punched a yawning hole straight through the sandy colossus who staggered back headless, hand uncoiling harmlessly from DEADE's spine and slipping from his gaping abdomen, spilling viscera the size of freight trains into the rubble below. The castle on its shoulders crumbled as Prometheus took a few fumbling steps and fell, unmoving. A line of shattered buildings stretched out behind it. A pillar of light was visible in the distance.

Voided abdominal cavity dumping hundreds of gallons of dark red blood at his feet DEADE held his ground, eyes beginning to dim. He threw back his head in a triumphant, thunderous roar. The earth trembled at his victory song.

_DEADE was._

A dozen missiles blazed over the blasted terrain, leaving trails of smoke in their wake as they buried themselves in DEADE's open abdomen. After a moment of delay the thermobaric warheads detonated. Fire burst from his gaping midriff, great ribbons of plasma burgeoning from his still open mouth. The shockwave almost tore him in half. With an unceremonious crash he fell onto his back, further upsetting the devastated ruins of downtown Hedgeton. His eyes cooled, losing their light, turning a strange egg yolk orange. A final searing breath hissed from between his teeth, and DEADE was still.

* * *

**A/N: **Geez, have I had a busy past five months. Any whoodles, expect the next (and most likely final) chapter to appear in a _much _shorter time. Firstly because school is almost out, and secondly because the next chapter isn't gonna be nearly eight thousand words of successive fight scenes.

A thousand humble thanks to anybody whose still reading this after nearly a half year of no updates! Leave a review, tell me what you think!

-TheManInTheHAt


	15. Shades of Gray

Shades of Gray

* * *

"Demon Gun Claire Whelan, step forward."

"… _seen this level of devastation since the San Francisco Earthquake of 1906. From what we can see from outside the quarantine zone few buildings are still standing- the whole city looks like a scrap yard from out here."_

"Two-Star Demon Gun Meister Cristóbal Moreno Delgado, step forward."

"… _said the damage to the harbor is, quote, 'reminiscent of a tactical nuclear strike'. The thermal forces at work here were so great that the waterfront has been reduced to a plain of glass, a phenomenon commonly observed in desert nuclear tests. In districts close to the water massive fires sparked by the ambient heat of the original attack rage unchecked as most of the state's firefighters have been committed to containing blazes left in the wake of the monster's final beam attack which, in addition to razing more than a hundred miles of pine forest and several private residences far outside of the city limits, knocked a hole in the Cascade mountain range."_

"On behalf of myself, Shibusen, and the DWMA faculty, I'd like to thank you both for your courage in the face of danger, your commitment to your friends and fellow students, and the personal sacrifices you've made to defend others. Know that what you have accomplished here matters, and that the world is a better place for what you've done."

"… _an utter disaster. If it wasn't for the intervention of an as of yet unidentified third party, there's no telling just how catastrophic the damage could've been. And that's really saying something when you consider how bleak things are looking here at ground zero."_

"Today we commemorate your momentous achievement, celebrate your valor, and challenge your peers to strive for the same honor."

"… _still sweeping the ruins for any remaining monsters and have placed the entire city under quarantine until the military sounds the all clear. The Pentagon has yet to release an official statement regarding what will be done with the remains of the large golem and the creature, but considering their size it could take several months just to relocate the bodies."_

"Chris, for the collection of ninety nine sanctioned souls and one witch soul, I'm proud to promote you to: Two-Star Death Scythe Meister."

"… _undoubtedly a severe gaff on the part of Shibusen. Billions of dollars in property damage, hundreds of thousands forced to flee from their homes…"_

"Claire, for the collection of ninety nine sanctioned souls and one witch soul, I'm proud to promote you to: Death Scythe."

There was a spattering of applause from the small crowd gathered around Death's mirror. The triumphant Weapon/Meister pair stood before the towering deity, Chris's expression neutral, Claire beaming and giving her Meister a playful punch. Death gave both paternal pats on the head, eyes smiling.

"Good job you two."

"… _through all the statistics, all these pictures of the aftermath, one question is on the tip of everybody's tongue: Who's to blame?"_

The onlookers crowded around the new Death Scythe and her Meister, offering high fives and handshakes, hugs and fist bumps. Claire basked in the attention with glee- Chris accepted his congratulations with a little more humility. There were a handful of teachers, Marie, Nygus, and Sid, who walked with a slight limp. There was the ever rueful Jackson, bobbing his head and flashing a silly grin, and a stiff but unusually warm Isabelle. Maka was having an animated conversation with Chris, no doubt giddy to have a fellow student Death Scythe Meister, even if she was still one soul away from the title herself. Claire was making it difficult for Soul to forget that she'd saved him and his Meister during the fight with Lila. He was handling her obnoxiousness amiably despite himself, and Maka mouthed a 'thank you' that he waved off. Black*Star and Kilik bumped shoulders with Isabelle, bickering over who had killed the most monsters over the course of the battle, Tsubaki trying and failing to hush her partner. Sonya and Kyla were nowhere to be seen.

Alexa stood aloof, her hands buried in the pockets of her bell bottoms. Everyone was smiling, laughing, clapping each other on the shoulder for a job well done. Her friends, her teachers were all around her and having a good time. And it took so _much _just to meet every gaze that wandered her way with a smile.

"… _over a hundred National Guardsmen and Army Reservists were killed during the battle on shore. Military higher ups assert that if it hadn't been for the retreat order given before the creature made landfall there would've been many more casualties. But the greatest loss of life was suffered by the Navy. The aircraft carrier Abraham Lincoln and its three escorts were sunk with all hands lost; the single greatest tragedy in the history of the United States Navy. In less than a second, that monster killed almost three times as many Americans as the Japanese Imperial Navy did during Pearl Harbor." _

The Demon Sword cringed when she inadvertently met Claire's eyes from across the room. Her older sister only had to hold the contact for a moment before Alexa had the unnerving feeling that she'd seen right through her. The redhead's heart sank as Claire cut through the crowd like a blade, stomping over to her little sister. She stopped within arm's reach and Alexa closed her eyes and forced a smile.

"Hey-" The taller blonde clamped her hands over Alexa's shoulders, silencing her with an uncharacteristically serious, sympathetic look.

But Alexa understood the unspoken dialogue in only the way a sister could. It struck straight to the ache in her chest, the tightness in her throat, the heaviness of her eyelids. She knew, no matter how Alexa tried to hide it, Claire _knew_. Alexa almost wanted to laugh at how serious her sister's eyes suddenly were. It was funny, in a broken sort of way. _He wouldn't want everyone getting worked up over this. He was doing what was right. That'd be enough for him._ She wanted to laugh at herself. _How the fuck should I know?_ It made her want to cry. It _killed _her.

So she smiled, leaned forward, and gave her older sister a light hug. "Grats sis."

"… _twice as many as the September Eleventh attack on the World Trade Center…"_

After a few more minutes of idle chatter she excused herself. The Death Room's double doors closed behind her with an unobtrusive click, and Alexa let out a long sigh. _I've got to be strong for them. _She knew that she should be happy for her sister, and she was. But right now she just wanted to be alone.

Empty, sympathetic hallways wrapped her in their embrace as she walked. Eyes downcast, hands in pockets, numb, watching her black tennis shoes pass in and out of the frame of her vision.

There hadn't even been a body to bury. The military were still picking through the rubble, thinking that it might've been thrown some distance by Marcus's last attack, but a cynical part of her was doubtful there was a body to find. _Marcus just… _She shook her head, pushing the thought away. For now, there was no body. The funeral had been poorly attended anyway, just her, Sonya, Isabelle and Jackson, Sid and Nygus, and some other adult Meister who'd apparently fought at Hedgeton. Alexa didn't recognize her.

The thing that disturbed her most was that she'd endured the whole ordeal dry eyed. Even Isabelle had had damp cheeks. Jackson suffered the angry, sniffling tears of a teenage boy ashamed of his own sorrow. Sonya had no such inhibitions and sobbed piteously into a handkerchief. She'd looked pretty in her black dress, all disheveled and tear stained. But Alexa had stood aside with the adults, stony faced and silent. She felt stupid, uncomfortable, out of place among her grieving friends when she couldn't even bring herself to _cry_.

"… _memorial services for the dead on the National Mall and in several state capitals…"_

"Alexa?" Sonya's voice stopped the Demon Sword in her tracks. She silently cursed her wandering feet; they'd led her right to the Dispensary. Sonya was sitting on a chair beside the door, eyes still puffy from crying.

"Hey Sonya." She answered dumbly, fumbling for words as silence filled the hall. After a moment she nodded at the door. "How is she?"

She cringed as Sonya sniffled, afraid she was going to cry again, but the Demon Hoop swiped a hand across her nose and answered. "Stein is still working on her."

Even now, Alexa was jealous of her. Sure, her Meister was in critical condition, but at least she still had one! _She got to spend more time with Roland than I did._ That bitter thought had been smoldering at the back of her throat ever since the funeral, like she wanted to spit it at Sonya's feet out of sheer spite. It almost matched the ache of his absence. Almost. Her chest swelled with a deep breath.

"It's all my fault."

Alexa blinked, taken aback by her interruption. "What?"

Sonya was trembling, balling her skirt up in her fists. "I should've trained harder. If I had then maybe our Resonance wouldn't have taken so much out of her, if I had just taken more of the burden, she would've been fast enough to dodge. But I couldn't do anything!" Alexa saw a few tears fall from her chin. "I've never felt so helpless."

The Demon Sword deflated. "I'm sorry Sonya." She remembered that same feeling, only being able to watch while someone you cared about got torn up. It made her want to scream. She wondered if Sonya felt the same way. Here, standing across the warmly lit hall, there wasn't as much separating them as she had originally thought.

"What for?" Sonya asked, releasing her crumpled skirt in favor of twining her fingers together, trying to distract herself.

"For Kyla and…" Alexa's hand tightened around the precious object in her pocket. "For Roland."

There was a moment of silence before Alexa sighed and continued.

"It's stupid, but I was so afraid that I'd lose him to you. As a friend, Meister, whatever. I treated you like trash when I was supposed to be your team mate. I was… selfish." She gave a single, broken laugh. "And now I've lost him for both of us."

"Alexa…" Sonya began, but the Demon Sword interrupted her.

"I wanted to thank you, too. You really made him happy Sonya."

The corners of the Demon Hoop's mouth tugged upwards into a small smile as fresh tears blazed wet trails down her cheeks, dripping from her chin onto the clasped hands in her voice was a whisper. "I miss him."

"… _responsible for the attack disappeared without a trace. Her three lieutenants, two of which were rogue Meisters, were killed by Shibusen operatives." _

Alexa stood in the shade of the school's front arches, hands in her pockets. Death City sprawled before her, baking under the boisterous sun, shimmering in the heat. She sniffled and scowled spitefully at the orange sphere.

_Stupid sun._

She wished it would rain. She wanted dark clouds and gale force winds; she wanted a _storm_. She needed some noise, some violence to distract her from the ache tugging at her insides. People were just going about their business like _nothing happened! _The world kept turning when she wanted, needed it to wait up so she could… think.

But thinking wouldn't help. The more she thought about it the more pointless the whole thing seemed which pissed her off because that meant Roland had _died _for nothing which reminded her that Roland had-

She punched the wall as hard as she could, biting her lip, blinking back tears. The coppery taste of blood played across her tongue. Her face contorted in desperation and anger; she punched the wall again. Had they really even won? The whole point had been to stop Raena from completing DEADE, and they'd failed. They'd barely been able to hold the city against her monsters and lieutenants, forced to flee like ants before the completed construct. Alexa had never been so scared.

She punched the wall again, once for her cowardice, once for her weakness. The skin over her knuckles had torn under their punishment and left a red smear against the white stone of the arch, one of the teeth of the Shinigami mask that stretched over the entrance to the school.

The spikes rising from the mask's eye and nose holes were like proud crimson lances, daring the world's demons and witches to threaten its people and suffer the wrath of the Death God's servants. But now it seemed like such a hollow gesture; they'd failed. In the face of grave danger Shibusen had faltered. Their task force, composed of some of the best Weapon/Meister pairs the academy had to offer, had served as little more than charismatic linemen. A speed bump. They had not beaten DEADE, in the end the military had managed to do so themselves. Mostly. Alexa still had no idea where that golem came from. When all was said and done it seemed like Shibusen really had no reason to have been there at all.

This led her, once again, to the sour conclusion that Roland had died for nothing. A strangled scream escaped her lips as she punched the wall a final time. Her shoulders heaved with gasping breaths, a few tears spilled onto her cheeks. She should've seen this coming. They had both agreed to this lifestyle, to putting themselves in harm's way. It was bound to happen to one of them eventually. She shouldn't have gotten attached. But that was the cruel irony of their creed: if they wanted to survive they _had _to connect, pulling desperately closer to draw on the power of their souls combined, leaning against one another for strength. That bond was the mechanism for Soul Resonance, the engine that let children challenge devils and sorcerers alike. Their great weakness; few could stand alone. Alexa pressed her forehead against the cool stone.

"… _growing public outrage over the disparity in casualties…"_

Maybe they were supposed to be soldiers. However, for every life they'd taken, they were just children. And it _hurt_. Something had been torn from her and left a gnawing absence in its wake. But what right did she have to waste time on tears? She was a soldier wasn't she? Less than that perhaps, a Weapon. And she'd had her vengeance. Hollow as it was. She'd thrown up after she realized what she'd done to Marcus, it made her feel dirty. Worse still she wasn't sure she really regretted _cooking him from the inside out_.

What was she supposed to do now that she was alone? She wanted to break something. _. Dead. _She squeezed her eyes shut and hiccupped. "…fuck!"

Someone sighed. Alexa turned, realizing too late that she looked very much the mess she'd been trying to convince people she wasn't. Luckily it was no one she knew. Alexa gave the intruder a withering look. "What are you looking at?" She snapped.

Sandy brown hair tumbled down around her shoulders, framing a lean face with a generous spattering of freckles across her soft nose and beneath two gentle hazel eyes. A white tank-top clung to her slim torso, tan khaki's accented her long legs which ended in nondescript brown suede shoes. A maul with a head of purple crystal hung from a sling on her back. The olive green scarf wound around her neck trailed a few feet behind her as it fluttered in the wind. Upon closer inspection she recognized her from Roland's funeral. _Who was she again?_

The woman wore a sympathetic smile. "You must be Alexa."

"So what if I am?" The Demon Sword snarled, tiring of strangers' sympathy. It would only rub salt into the wounds. She was determined to drive this woman away with the most abrasive attitude she could muster. "And who are you supposed to be?"

"Roland's mother."

"You're…" Alexa's eyes went wide. Her hair and eyes were lighter, but there was a certain familiarity to her features. "I… I'm…" She stuttered. Ashamed and unable to hold the elder Meister's gaze any longer her face fell. Her hand sought the comfort of the artifact in her pocket. Tears trickled freely as she withdrew her hand and offered a closed fist. Her fingers uncurled to reveal Roland's cracked glasses. "… sorry."

Madeline accepted them gingerly. Alexa fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry!"

Roland's mother smiled sadly at her son's bereaved Weapon. They'd all lost something, Madeline especially. Victor and Roland, a dear friend and a son… yes, she understood the Demon Sword's pain well. Their injured hearts screamed out for recompense, but it was too late for that. The battle had left only one loose end. She stooped and wrapped the trembling blade in her arms, drawing her close, smoothing her short red hair with a tender hand. "It's all right. Let it out." She cooed. "We're gonna be all right."

Now was the time for healing.

* * *

Jackson had thought long and hard, pondering the sugar glazed doughnut held loosely between his fingers. Open on the table before him was a pink cardboard box, and inside it just one short of a dozen identical doughnuts were arranged in two neat rows. At the other end of the table Isabelle was folding laundry. The quaint domesticity of the scene confounded him. Hadn't they just been fighting for their lives? He could've sworn people had died too, he'd seen it. How could he forget? The fighting in the streets had been grueling. And then someone told him what the lights on the water were.

The doughnut twitched, and he took a bite to still the trembling of his hand.

How did the saying go? _One death is a tragedy, a million is a statistic. _He contemplated the pastry, a ring of sugar glazed dough now broken. _Who said that? Stalin? _Another bite. _Roland might've known._

There hadn't been even close to a million deaths but Jackson was still struggling to wrap his head around just how many people DEADE had killed in, literally, the blink of an eye. In the scramble to get out of the city before the titans met downtown it hadn't occurred to him that the light show in the bay would translate to so many deaths.

He'd seen the numbers on the news; the media was having an absolute fit. It was a completely unprecedented disaster. But Jackson found himself woefully unmoved the navy's losses. The savaged bodies of national guardsmen still dominated the dark behind his eyelids, gunfire and screams still rebounded off the inside of his skull. The deaths he'd seen, those he'd tried to stop and those he'd wrought, those were the ones that frayed his nerves and weighed heavy on his conscious. Barely more than a hundred soldiers had been killed in the fighting on the mainland and of those Jackson had only witnessed a handful. Each had been its own grotesque, heart wrenching tragedy. Arms torn from their sockets, faces caved in, chests crushed, gibbering weekend warriors cradling their own bloody guts in their hands as men and machines and monsters fell to pieces around them. A lucky few were killed instantly, for they dealt each other cruel half-deaths that left the not quite slain to suffer their own eternities of agony before they could be counted among the dead. Knowing that he had meted out similar fates was Jackson's greatest shame.

But the monsters didn't count did they? Faceless, inhuman, feral flesh tearers, they could not suffer as a human could. They simply lacked that depth of feeling. The soldier was not a murderer; he was an exterminator putting down dangerous fauna and performing necessary maintenance of the food chain. _Does it help, _he wondered, _when they tell themselves that?_ Jackson could not enjoy that luxury; he was already too familiar with the truth of the matter. The monsters knew fear, pain, sorrow, and the burden of their own twisted existences. He heard it in their mouthless keening every time the defenders cut down one of their brood. They had brains, spines, hearts. Souls. Jackson knew because these were the very things he'd taken from them.

The fact that his only marketable skill was inflicting pain on others had never really sat well with him. Sometimes he envied those inanimate objects that the rest of the world used as weapons. Beyond the walls of Death City a sword couldn't feel shame, a spear wouldn't wallow in apathy, and a gun never wrestled with a guilty conscious. Here in the shadow of the DWMA weapon was spelled with a capital W, and axes had to figure out for themselves whether they were tools or human beings.

Jackson saw Isabelle pick up and fold a pair of his boxers, feeling his cheeks darken. The realization that he'd just blushed at something as innocuous as her handling his laundry only made his face burn that much more, this time in embarrassment.

If she was struggling with the same disheartening confusion it didn't show. If anything, the battle had served to dull her constant edge of severity. Not happy outright… no, definitely not. Jackson would only go as far as to say she was cautiously optimistic. This, to an outside observer, probably wouldn't make any sense. One teammate killed, another fighting for her life in an operating room, seven thousand dead, a city in ruins, and their mission failed, what was there to be even cautiously optimistic about?

Isabelle folded a final pair of jeans and placed them atop the stack of clean clothes. Bracing her hands against the table she leaned forward slightly, examining her handiwork with an air of quiet satisfaction. She was in her "casual" attire, bare foot with one of her white dress shirts tucked into the waist of a pair of black slacks. Jackson watched her and wondered what she thought of the bloodbath, of the aftermath. Did she laugh or cry at the paradox of their involvement, responsible for an outcome they could have done nothing to prevent? No matter which way Jackson looked at it, there really wasn't anything they could've done to stop Raena from completing DEADE. It hadn't mattered that they'd killed her minions and stolen the Magic Tools from the grasp of her lieutenants; Raena had simply bypassed them and gotten her way in the end.

The Demon Axe Meister kept her thoughts on the matter to herself. Besides, they had a small personal victory of their own to distract themselves with.

She noticed him looking so Jackson quickly dropped his eyes and took a bite of his doughnut. Of course doing so only proved that he had been caught staring, but extended contact with those amber and ivory spheres had a tendency to muddle his thinking to the point where making up an excuse would've been impossible. He would have to tell her frankly that he'd been thinking about her, studying her face as much for signs of anxiety as for his own enjoyment. He'd seen her cleave inhuman enemies in half like loafs of stale bread, he'd seen her kill Arachnophobia foot soldiers with her bare hands, but perhaps the fact that she could paralyze him with her stare was more a testament to his weakness than to her strength. Either way, it sent shivers down his spine.

Mercifully, she did not pursue the issue. Without so much as a word she piled the folded laundry into a blue plastic basket, turned, and left a flustered Jackson to his doughnuts. He felt positively idiotic, sitting at their kitchen table eating pastries and stealing glances at his Meister while she did laundry. What else could he do? They'd been given another mandatory break from missions because, as Lord Death had said in kinder words, their squad was useless with only one intact Weapon/Meister pair. But Jackson had a feeling that Isabelle wouldn't let them sit on their hands for long. Their future, unlike Sonya and Kyla's or poor Meisterless Alexa's, was far from uncertain. Somehow the carnage and tragedy of Hedgeton had left the blonde and her axe with an unexpected reason for optimism. In the streets of that shattered metropolis Isabelle had, for the first time in Jackson's memory, mastered her anger.

Then again, mastered was a bit of an overstatement. There had been too many close calls for that, too many glancing blows, too many gruesome scenes that almost sent her over the edge. But she had held her ground. And so it was their first major battle that she remembered in its entirety. Any time afterwards that hadn't been spent in contemplative, mournful silence she'd use to make bemused observations about how Black*Star and Kilik belonged in their own Shonen, or to marvel at Kim's epic defense of Ox when the bespectacled lancer was knocked out during the fighting. Working together with the other students, sharing banter and shedding blood with friends, Jackson could say she'd nearly enjoyed herself. Of course the news of Roland's death and Kyla's condition had put a quick stop to that reverie. However, Jackson could still see triumph smoldering in her eye sockets. And so, he supposed, he could be happy. If only for her.

Jackson was reaching for a second doughnut when Isabelle's voice rang out through the house. "Jackson?" The Demon Axe stopped, attentive, hand suspended a few inches from the box of pastries.

"Yeah?"

"I need a hand."

He was out of his seat with a huff, taking a moment to crack his back. Then it was out of the kitchen, down the hall, to the stairs where he paused with a hand on the rail. "Where are you?"

"My room."

The Axe thumped gracelessly up to the house's second story. Isabelle's door was cracked open, and Jackson stepped in to find her unbuttoning her shirt. She greeted him with the faintest nod of acknowledgement. "The first aid kit is on my dresser."

Isabelle's room was dominated by whites and warm, powdery blues. There were no knickknacks on display, no frivolous decorations, nor was the decor indicative of any of the usual excesses of great wealth. Her chambers had a professional air, as if Jackson had stepped not into her bedroom but her office. There was nothing of the merciless, battlefield berserk here. Focused, functional, peaceful, this was a shrine to the Isabelle that Isabelle wanted to be. As if by sleeping in this room that belonged not to her as she was she might assume the identity of the woman she wanted to become. And Jackson was both a means to that end and an obstacle. An anchor that kept her earthbound or the medium of her muzzled inner violence. Either way, a tool.

But now things were going to get better, they were figuring it out, with his help she could control herself. So Jackson grabbed the first aid kit from the dresser while Isabelle folded her shirt and set it aside. She sat on the edge of the bed and unhooked her bra, holding the loose white undergarment flush to her chest with crossed arms while Jackson skimmed the contents of the kit to make sure he had what he needed. Satisfied, he took his place cross-legged on the bed behind her and set about his work.

On Isabelle's back were two heavy bandages, trophies of gauze and surgical tape, starting side by side at her right shoulder and stopping just short of her spine. Jackson gingerly peeled them off to reveal the jagged, pink parallel slashes that they hid. Parting gifts from one of Raena's lupine monsters. A frown tugged his lips downward when he saw that the wounds were bleeding lightly.

"How did you reopen them?" She gave a small shrug and remained silent. Her Axe tsked and retrieved fresh rolls of tape and gauze from the first aid kit. "You need to be more careful."

Normally DWMA students had their wounds, both those acquired in the city and on missions, treated either on campus or at whatever facilities were available abroad. But in the event that advanced medical personnel were unavailable, all Weapons and Meisters took Red Cross first aid courses as part of their mandatory school curriculum. All in all the DWMA was one of the best places in Death City to get hurt, bar perhaps one of the three hospitals, as the entire student body had basic medical training. Even the faculty, Death Scythes to janitors, had to be EMT certified.

So it was with practiced hands that Jackson went about reapplying his Meister's dressings. There was a deep satisfaction in the act of mending, coaxing torn flesh back together with little more than gentle pressure and sterile cloth. It reeked of a sort of intimacy Jackson was coming to crave. His thoughts drifted then, as they often did those days, to the Battle for BREW. To their kiss in the snow. He blushed unnoticed as Isabelle stared patiently at the wall in front of her, waiting for him to finish. His eyes settled on the crook of her neck and Jackson suddenly found himself with the strangest urge to lean forward and _smell _her. Immediately his common sense was screaming alarums, warning him that such a strange gesture would earn him swift and bloody punishment. _She might not even notice_, he reasoned, pondering the contours of her naked back. He could always assert that he was getting even for her unexpected kiss on Lost Island. Even if he did, there was a good chance it wouldn't stop her from ripping him two or three new ones anyway just for being weird.

It was the stark white of her new bandages the pulled his gaze from dangerous territory, a harsh reminder of reality. _She could've died._ His heart dropped into his stomach as he contemplated the possibilities. Any deeper and those claws might've punctured a lung, or any further left and they could've clipped her spine, anywhere else on her body and they might've inflicted even graver injuries because despite his protests she never wore body armor of any kind, and no matter what she thought dressing like a successful lawyer to emphasize her agency didn't make her invincible so why couldn't she just be more careful? In a moment of silent terror he realized that any wrong move would've left him like Alexa; Meisterless, orphaned.

Jackson laid a hand over her wound, feeling her heat through the dressings, the skin of his palm, an expression of pleading helplessness twisting his face into a pitiful sort of grimace that suggested indigestion.

"I don't want to lose you."

Amber eyes misty, Isabelle's lips curled upwards in a small, sad smile.

* * *

The festivities were over and the Death Room was quiet. Spirit slouched against the side of Death's mirror, hands in his pockets, contemplating the simulated desert horizon that was his master's wallpaper of choice. Shinigami-sama himself was rooted in the center of his platform, his tall and jagged form like a sliver of the void itself. He was waiting, masked face turned to his mirror, silent utterly.

They shared many moments like this, Spirit reflected. Waiting for the next disaster, the next briefing, the next battle, and the next faculty meeting. He had never imagined that becoming Death's personal Weapon would entail such a change of pace. Back when he first started it didn't seem like Death did much of anything at all except put up and tear down bureaucratic red tape. But now he knew better; Death played a game of strategy and intrigue with the darker tendencies of human nature itself. Shackled as he was, in truth his reach was unhindered. He and Shibusen were one; he was the brain, this school was the heart, and the students and staff were his hands, scouring chaos from its den in his stead.

It was a dangerous game; Death wasn't the only god who walked the Earth. But now it was a man who'd upset the balance. Even with Victor's improvised deity silenced, the consequences of his insurrection were already proving far reaching. His defeat had been far more destabilizing than Death could have anticipated. _Was this part of your plan too, Victor? _Death glowered at his own reflection in the mirror. _How deep does this go? How much did you really know? _He hated uncertainty. So he was relieved when Nygus appeared in the mirror, hoping she would provide some of the illumination he desperately needed.

"Hello hello Nygus!" He chirped. "How goes your investigation?"

"It's hard to tell from the outside, but Madeline was right." The Demon Knife in question sighed. She wore a blue surgical gown and gloves with a generous, almost artful spattering of blood across the sleeves, scalpel still held poised in her right hand. With tired eyes she addressed the mirror an assistant had prepared for her. "These monsters are halfwarg."

Death's voice didn't waver, but held a certain undercurrent of intensity that chilled those within earshot. "You're sure?"

"Positive."

"I thought the Brood cut ties with the witches just after the Second War with the Forest. And that was what, seven hundred years ago? What was Raena doing with an army of them?" Spirit asked. "Could it be that they've reestablished their alliance?"

"No. They are too proud, not to mention too few, to commit any of their kin to be cannon fodder for a witch's scheme." Death shook his head. "What do you think Nygus?"

"There weren't any signs of arcane interference in the brain tissue, but these deformities suggest that they were being coerced. After all, their mouths were grafted shut, and every halfwarg we encountered showed signs of severe inanition." Nygus laid her scalpel aside and crossed her arms. "If I had to take a guess, I'd say Raena was starving them into obedience. The fused fingers were probably to keep them from making or using any tools."

Shinigami-sama made a pensive grunt. _Raena must've enslaved an entire village. _That a witch could've found one of the Brood's hidden enclaves wasn't too farfetched, but too have brought nearly three hundred under her influence with only another witch and Victor? Then again, strange things had a way of happening around that man.

A door creaked open and shut, footsteps echoed throughout the Death Room, and Azusa and Sid emerged from the tunnel of guillotines. They approached the Shinigami's platform and greeted the cloaked deity, Azusa with a curt nod and Sid with a grunt. Lord Death bobbed his head in acknowledgment.

"And how are my two favorite negotiators doing today?" He asked, suddenly jarringly jovial. Spirit clutched his head and groaned in frustration. All these mood swings were going to give him whip lash. Azusa exhaled through her nose, shifting her weight ever so slightly, a tiny motion that hinted at the stresses the frigid Death Scythe was dealing with.

"If I may be frank, Lord Death, I've had better days." She was a master of understatement.

"Keep your chin up Azusa! It'll keep you from flipping over forwards if you're skydiving." The Death God chimed, eyes smiling. Spirit groaned again as his master continued. "How did your chitchat with the Pentagon go?"

"Well, excuse the expression but…" Sid scratched his head sheepishly. "They kinda got us by the balls boss."

"Oh?"

Azusa nodded gravely. "I'm afraid we've had to make concessions."

Spirit shot his Meister a sideways glance as the cloaked deity huffed and asked, "What's the damage?"

"The United States military has taken custody of the remains of both DEADE and the golem Prometheus. They intend to have them transported to a top secret facility for storage and, I suspect, study. Shibusen has been denied access to them indefinitely."

The Shinigami's expression darkened. A gaggle of military scientists locked in a warehouse with DEADE's corpse was an ominous image indeed. Who knew what dangerous knowledge they could wrestle from its husk? He could care less about the golem. Even if they had an expert there to examine it, he was sure even a Master Enchanter like Prometheus's maker couldn't explain how a three hundred foot tall statue made of solid, not to mention _enchanted_ sandstone could fight, much less _move_, without any mechanical aid. He actually felt sorry for whoever was charged with the impossible task of figuring out how the golem worked. "What about the Enchanter, Abraham?"

Sid and Spirit exchanged a puzzled look before the zombie answered with a question of his own. "You knew the guy who built that golem?"

"You seriously think someone could build a golem that big without me knowing about it? And yes, we were familiar with each other." He waved a blocky white hand in a dismissive gesture. "But do we know what happened to him after Prometheus fell?"

"They didn't say a word about it." Sid shrugged. "Which means he's either dead and they haven't found him, or that he's alive and they've got him locked up somewhere for questioning."

"Or that he's alive and he got out of Hedgeton." Spirit added. Azusa shook her head.

"The army has the entire city cordoned off. Escape, even for a single man, is unlikely." She adjusted her glasses. "It's far more likely that they found his body and thought he was a civilian who disobeyed the evacuation order and got killed in the crossfire."

"That could very well be the case." Death cupped his chin in his hand. "What about the Eye of Vengeance and the Omni-Resonator? Were they successfully recovered from DEADE's corpse?"

"Both Magic Tools were found. However, the military was unwilling to return them to us."

"What! Why?" Death cried, his first outburst since the debacle had begun. Azusa chose her words carefully.

"They feel we may not have the facilities to properly store the Tools, considering that Victor singlehandedly stole them from the vault."

"Azusa, you know we can't let those Magic Tools fall into hands that would abuse their power. I realize that the government has good intentions, but no army can be trusted with that kind of destructive potential!"

The Demon Bowgun raised a hand to placate the anxious deity. "That is precisely the reason that the Tools are on their way to the IISS."

"The International Institute of Soul Studies?" Death's surprised blink was hidden by his mask, but its eyes smiled just the same. "Very good! The IISS is about as close to neutral ground as we could hope for!" He turned to Spirit with a tone of mock conspiracy. "And we have a very reliable contact in the Institute, don't we Spirit?" His Weapon grew pale, eliciting a hearty chuckle from the Shinigami. "Very good indeed!"

"I had a feeling you'd be satisfied with that compromise." Azusa allowed herself a smirk at Spirit's expense. But any comedy the flustered Death Scythe provided ended in abrupt silence when Stein entered.

Doctor Franken Stein was exhausted. There were bags under his eyes, his clothes and hair were disheveled, and he was even paler than normal. Stubble darkened the shape of his jaw, a bent cigarette hung unlit from his lips. With shoulders stooped and hands buried in the pockets of his lab coat he neared Death, heavy footsteps resounding in the open space. When he reached the foot of the platform next to Sid and Azusa he closed his eyes, let out a long sigh, and was silent.

"Uh… Stein?" Sid bent forward a little to get a look at him. The silence stretched on. "Is he asleep?"

"How unprofessional." Azusa muttered.

"Cut him some slack. He's been awake for what, three days?" The zombie Knife Meister reasoned. "Maybe we should just-"

"STEIN, WAKE UP!"

There was a blur of stitched lab coat and a sharp _thwack_. The color drained from Spirit's face when he looked down to find a scalpel quivering in the floor just next to his big toe.

"Seventy three hours, twenty four minutes and fourteen seconds, to answer your question Sid. I'll have you know that I was having a very pleasant dream that didn't involve cutting open little girls, or the absurdly monotonous task of clobbering hordes of nearly identical enslaved halfwarg to death." Stein murmured halfway coherently.

Nygus started within the mirror. "How'd you already know they were halfwarg?"

"Because I spent a day doing nothing but spreading mass death by head trauma among their ranks, to be completely frank with you." He sighed, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. "They have very distinct cranial geography."

"Jesus Stein, could you be more careful with these friggin scalpels? You almost took my toe off!"

Stein cracked an eye open, brow furrowed in confusion. "I missed?"

Death coughed loudly into his hand. The professor gave Spirit a lazy once over before closing his eyes and pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

"Despite having received grievous abdominal injuries, Demon Hoop Meister Kyla Tseung will live." There was an exhale of relief from his audience. "Whether or not she will fight another day remains uncertain."

Sid's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You didn't just turn her into a zombie did you? Because I doubt she could've survived being disemboweled."

"You're skepticism is warranted, but you underestimate Kyla's reflexes. Even if she couldn't completely avoid the attack in her weakened state it meant the difference between a voided abdominal cavity and an opened one." Stein's glasses gleamed eerily. "Of course, that didn't stop her from bleeding half to death by the time the army medics found her. You have them, and the four pints of blood they pumped into her, to thank for her life. All I did was put her back together."

"Humble as always professor." Azusa noted coolly.

He closed his eyes again, fingering the lighter in his pocket while addressing Death. "What happened to the Magic Tools?"

"Well, the military wouldn't let us have them back after we lost them so easily to Victor." The Shinigami crossed his arms and shook his head. "But there was no way we could allow any nation to possess them, so both have been sent to the IISS for study."

"A risky compromise… putting the potential for such discovery in their hands..." Stein's expression darkened. "What if they learn the Tools' secrets? If they discover the true functionality of the soul, can we trust them to use that knowledge for good?"

"Of all people Stein, I never expected such naivety from you." All present were hardened warriors, keepers of secrets, veterans of the Star Clan purge; they'd had more than their fair share of near death experiences. But when Death laughed, eyes smiling, it sent chills up their spines. The masked god turned away from them, clasping his hands behind his back and contemplating the Death Room's horizon.

"I think that once, long ago, there was good and evil. Completely separate, pure and undiluted. Like black and white. But when good and evil met each became muddled, their integrity could not exist outside of a vacuum. And no matter how much each hated the other, despite the vicious fury of undying opposites, they mingled. The line blurred, and soon enough the battle ground of good and evil lost all distinction and became a maelstrom of innumerable contradicting convictions. There were only an unfortunate, perceptive few who noticed the change."

"A place where good and evil ceased to exist…" Azusa murmured pensively. Stein cocked an eyebrow at her.

Shinigami-sama made a noise of sad amusement. "Those who knew, friend and foe alike, did everything in their power restore the old order."

"What did they do?" Spirit asked, leaning forward with genuine interest. "What happened next?"

"No matter how much black or white they added back into the mix all they got were shades of gray."

* * *

Sonya was asleep when Kyla finally opened her eyes. With chair pulled close she leaned onto the bed, head buried in crossed arms and hair fanning out against the dull blue of the sheets. Even in her first groggy moments of consciousness Kyla's mind was brimming with questions, first among them how she'd survived Lila's coup de grace, but the rhythm of Sonya's breathing hinted at a peaceful sleep. So her questions could wait. For now she would try to enjoy the change of scenery.

The Dispensary was unfamiliar territory. Other than the mandatory biyearly physicals the Hoop Meister had little reason to set foot in the infamous wing of wounded warriors. Sid's briefing before Alexa's kidnapping in Egypt was the only time she'd been here in recent memory. This was the first occasion where she'd been wounded grievously enough to warrant an extended stay. No, she thought with a note of pride, this was the first time in her career as a Meister that she'd been injured at all. With this in mind it only made sense that this injury should be so severe; it had to make up for all the battles she'd survived unscathed.

It was really her own fault. Lux Hasta was a difficult technique even when you discounted the fact that it was mechanically impossible. Kyla figured it only worked because, somehow, the Weapon and Meister bent the laws of physics through combined force of will. Perhaps that was a cop out, but it helped explain the nasty side effects. A wide variety of post-Soul Resonance reactions had been documented, everything from paranoia to exhaustion, but all she knew for sure was that the body payed for giving thermodynamics the bird. Their teachers weren't much help. Every time a student did something that should've been downright impossible the professors shrugged their shoulders and attributed it to a powerful wavelength. Whatever that meant. It would be a dark day, she reckoned, when someone figured out the science behind all this quantum dickery she called school.

But knowing that they made life and death decisions based on abilities they didn't really understand hadn't really bothered her until now. Because now there was a numb spot, a sensationless plain that stretched from her hips to the bottom of her ribcage. Her lip curled into a half snarl of repulsion at the thought that she had been too slow. Thanks to some earlier lapse of discipline she'd been unfit for battle, she'd made herself a liability for the others. Who knows what could've happened while she was unconscious? Who knew what _had _happened? Her eyes flitted to Sonya's sleeping form. She needed answers, she so hated being uninformed. Had there been any casualties? How badly damaged was Hedgeton? Did they have to fight the Knight again? Rafael, Raena? Was Lila dead? What about DEADE? Who'd won? What happened to the Magic Tools?

Was that a scar on her tongue?

She stuck a finger between her lips, seeking the ridge of raised flesh she'd just felt against the roof of her mouth. Almost imperceptible but, sure enough, it was there. With the tip of her index finger she traced its length, following its curved path across the top of her tongue. A frown creased her brow when she found an identical mark underneath it. Sonya awoke in the middle of her Meister's oral exploration, blinking sleepily at the strange scene. Their eyes met and she bolted upright with a shout of surprise and joy.

"You're awake!"

Kyla withdrew her finger from her mouth and gave the slick appendage a dull look. "What happened to my tongue?"

"Your tongue?" Sonya's face clouded in confusion before understanding struck her. "Oh, that. You nearly bit it off when Lila hit you. If it wasn't for Kim you probably would've lost it."

"And why was Kim involved with my tongue?" The Hoop Meister asked with a quirked eyebrow. Sonya shrugged.

"Apparently she's a witch with healing magic."

_That snotty pinkette had her hand in my mouth? Touching my tongue? _Kyla pondered this for a moment. _Not bad._ "Well, that's new."

The Weapon hummed agreement, and they were quiet for a time while Kyla ordered her thoughts. For the first time since she woke up she examined Sonya's face. The taller girl's eyes were red, from a lack of sleep perhaps? If Sonya had been awake the entire time Kyla slept it wouldn't have surprised the bedridden Meister in the least. Sonya had always been prone to hand wringing, Kyla figured it was a side effect of her compassionate disposition. Roland, the bespectacled swordsman, was lucky to have her. That she was here and not at some other bedside probably meant he was intact. The Spartoi were likely no more worse for wear, they were the most skilled Weapon/Meister teams in the student body after all. It was Isabelle that worried her. In such a chaotic battlefield, who knew what trouble her recklessness had gotten her into? But Sonya was awake now. Kyla would get her answers.

"Sonya..." The Demon Hoop perked up at the sound of her name. "Did we win?"

Her heart sank as Sonya's eyes fell. She clasped her hands in her lap, and uttered a quiet and sincere "I'm not sure."

Not sure? Victory could not be a matter of degrees, they had a mission. They either accomplished it or they didn't. There couldn't be an in between. "Was DEADE destroyed?"

"Yes."

Kyla turned her gaze to the ceiling with an air of finality. "Then we succeeded."

"It's not that simple!" Sonya blurted, distraught. "Do you know how many people it killed? The navy's strike force was completely destroyed! There wasn't a single survivor! Raena's monsters killed more than a hundred people, Hedgeton is in ruins!" She gasped for air, a few tears escaping down her cheeks when she tried to blink them away. "Kyla... Roland's dead."

A blink of surprise. _What?_ The Demon Hoop Meister's jaw tightened as the enormity of their losses began to take shape. How many people served on an aircraft carrier? Hundreds, thousands? What about it's escorts? With Hedgeton in ruins how many more had lost their homes and livelihoods? It was obvious now that they'd been fools to take Death up on his offer to let them accompany the Spartoi. They were only one star Meisters after all. That one of their teammates had been killed highlighted just how out of their depth they had been, that it was Roland only added insult to injury. _Poor Sonya. _"Damn." She breathed. It really wasn't their fault. They had been tasked with retrieving the Magic Tools, and they had succeeded. It was Death and his higher ups who had failed to protect them from being retaken. As soon as the situation was out of their hands, Kyla thought bitterly, it spiraled out of control. Now Roland and who knew how many other people were dead. She felt now more than ever that they were on their own, that they could only rely on themselves because the people who were supposed to guide them on this dangerous path kept too many secrets and expected them to fight and win half blind. It was too much to ask of children. It was too much to ask of anyone. But they had to ask someone didn't they?

Yes, someone had to bear this burden. Someone had to fight and bleed for the crippled Death God or else the quiet lives they all secretly pined for would be swallowed up by the aimless ruin of witches and nascent Kishin. Roland and the others had been painful but not unacceptable losses. Painful, but not in vain. DEADE had been destroyed and Raena's plans halted. In the end that's what mattered. No matter what you faced with oblivion at your back you went forward, on bloody hands and knees if that's what it took. You triumphed no matter the cost because failure was simply not an option. Lord Death understood that, Kyla knew, because it was the only way of rationalizing any of this sacrifice that made it all right. Kyla suspected that Isabelle knew it too, deep down in that violent part of herself that she was ashamed of. Perhaps Roland had been thinking similar thoughts when he'd met his end.

Her hand twitched as she fought the reflex to feel out the stitches that held her sundered abdomen shut.

It was up to them if they wanted to win _and _survive. Because as far as Shibusen was concerned survival had to be secondary to victory. Seeing the angst just one death had inflicted on her team, watching Sonya's soul tremble with grief, it struck a chord in the Demon Hoop Meister. She'd have to become stronger, she'd have to be their guide. With discipline of wrought iron she would make the choices that had to be made, the ones they shied from, the ones that blurred the lines they clung to. They would win, they would survive, they would hate her for it and she would embrace it. She would eat their sins. Sonya's spirit wept and it terrified her. They were on their own, caught between forces beyond their control and comprehension. So she would play the game and dirty her hands on their behalf. She would protect them whether they liked it or not. Because no one else would.

Bedridden as she was, Kyla couldn't put off this great effort a moment longer. Sonya seemed confused when her Meister provided her with a long list of reading material she would require to keep occupied during her long recovery, but consented to the errand and left Kyla to her machinations. The Demon Hoop shut the door to the Dispensary behind her with a puzzled look and a sniffle before setting out for the library.

* * *

The stubborn rays of a setting sun filtered in through the blinds drawn over the kitchen window, giving an impression of nostalgic warmth to the living room Alexa and Roland had once shared. His books still sat shelved against the wall, their leather spines projecting a quiet aura of subtle sophistication, the words hidden between their covers both commanding in the weight of their art and deferential in their silence. They had been familiar with each other, the swordsman and his books. His palms had grown fond of the texture of their bindings; he'd reveled in the silky feel of inked pages against his fingertips, invisible fingerprints winding across every vicarious introspection and adventure like tracks in fresh snow. Each had an impression of him as much they had left their marks on the malleable mettle of his adolescent psyche. They were heavy with his feeling. Or so they were to Alexa, who eyed them with a potent cocktail of sadness and jealousy. She longed to reach out and touch them, to feel those sacred objects, to know these things and through them know him because she feared she didn't. They'd only lived and worked together for a bare three months, a denomination of time that seemed even shorter in hindsight. It had been a blur of breathless frustration and violence punctuated by a split second of happiness, warm lights and a handful of ukulele strings.

Shuddering with mournful sound Alexa pulled her knees to her chest, curled into a piteous ball at the end of the couch. Three crumpled cans of cheap beer lay scattered on the carpet and a fourth stood open on the coffee table. The Demon Sword's cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, her eyes bleary and bloodshot, head swimming in her reminisces.

Since Death City was a sovereign entity exempt from the laws of the nation that surrounded it the citizens enjoyed a legal drinking age of just sixteen, no doubt as some consolation for the underage fighters who studied at the academy. When Madeline and Alexa had left each other to their mourning purchasing a six pack at the nearby convenience store had been an easy errand. It had been a heat of moment decision; she thought that drowning one's sorrows in booze had a certain rebellious, romantic ring to it. Either way guzzling three cans in quick succession had done nothing to relieve her anxieties and had instead left the Demon Sword with a headache that pounded spitefully at the space just behind her eye sockets.

What would Roland say if he could see her like this? Would he chastise her? What could he scold he for, mourning his death? Being reckless with alcohol? Who was he to call her reckless, childish, to criticize the sloppiness of her sadness when it was his fault in the first place! He died, he'd left her alone _again_! She snarled and, so infuriating was this thought, suddenly lashed out with her foot and swept the beer can from the table. It collided against the bookcase with a hollow metallic bump before dropping to the floor, a brown stain spreading into the carpet when it settled on its side. Alexa cursed, having forgotten the can was still half full, and lurched forward to set it right side up before the spill could grow. The coffee table didn't register as an obstacle in her inebriated state. Her shin caught the edge and a drunken attempt to avoid falling into the glass table top sent her tumbling into the bookcase, the tall shelves shuddering for a moment before a book slipped from its resting place and fell cover first into the expanding beer puddle.

Alexa groaned, clutching at her head where it'd hit the bookcase, vision swimming. The point of impact was already starting to swell under her fingers and there was a bruise on her leg where she'd hit the edge of the table. She spat a colorful string of curses. After everything that'd happened in the past months she'd forgotten that you could hurt yourself just by being clumsy in your own home. It seemed so trivial, something to be taken for granted. But she'd forgotten. She had lost touch with the simple reality of how people and places worked in everyday life because life for a time had been a fevered dream, a nightmare where everything around her moved just a little too fast, just out of reach, mocking the illusion of control and normalcy she craved. Like a castaway adrift on a turbulent sea she could only watch the fiery spectacle unfold. A spark burgeoning upward, nebulous, unfurling like the wings of a terrible bird. Like the petals of a flower.

The sight of the fallen book spurred the dazed sword back into action. It was time to clean up the mess she'd made. She picked up the scattered cans and the book, dropping the former in the trash and the latter on the counter, before finding a towel and sponge to wrestle the beer from the carpet's fibers. After a couple minutes of scrubbing Alexa relented; the brown stain would remain for the foreseeable future. The motions of half-hearted house cleaning led her back to the counter where Roland's tome waited.

"_My Inventions_…" Alexa muttered, running her fingers over the beer-slick cover. "_The Autobiography of Nikola Tesla._" Its outward appearance was not especially unique. An awkward blotch stretched across much of the front cover, discoloring the leather slightly, but beyond that the damage seemed minimal. Still, the Demon Sword felt a feeling of curious nostalgia wash over her as she tested its weight in her hands. He had read this book. He'd held it, much as she did now, poured over its pages and savored its insights. Might she? Alexa lifted a hand to her cheek and realized she was crying.

She knew this book in the same way she knew him. Its cover was familiar, but the print on its face only gave hints to the content that continued to elude her. What did it amount to, knowing a book by its cover? Maybe, no, certainly their relationship had been a sham from the start. They'd hardly had chemistry as Weapon and Meister, hoping for anything beyond that was folly. She tried, hadn't she forgiven him after all? He'd crossed a desert for her sake! She'd forgiven him.

Perhaps it had been some latent clairvoyant ability, some subconscious intuition that their time would be short, that drove her to abandon their quarrel so eagerly. Who was she kidding, she'd threatened him! They had traded blows, what sword turned itself against the hand that wielded it? But he'd come for her. Knowing that he would do such a thing for her had filled her head with fanciful notions. In the end it seemed Alexa had wanted to forgive him and that her rescue had just provided an excuse to do so. God forbid she should just be forthright with him, that they should've communicated like adults instead of pouting like children. How different it might've been. Why had she been angry with him again?

For a time lost in her reflections, the Demon Sword found herself standing on the threshold of Roland's room. She swayed for a moment and leaned against the doorframe. The spot invoked the painful memories of Roland's soulscape and their fight. _My Inventions _hung dutifully from her hand, offering what comfort it could as she stepped forward to breathe in the space where Roland had slept. It was as subdued and neat as she remembered. When she summoned the courage to climb atop his bed and sit, book cradled in her lap, an overwhelming sense of loneliness settled on her shoulders. That was the root of it all, her confusion and her frustration. All she'd wanted was to get to know him, to enjoy his company and to form a bond that she might reflect on and smile. But distance had found its way between them, first with Sonya and now… this. In the final moments of the fight with Rafael and Marcus he'd let her go. Left her behind and rushed to meet his destiny, just like her sister had two years ago when she learned that she was a Demon Gun. By the time she'd caught up Claire had already become a Death Scythe and was again on her way to bigger and better things while Alexa languished a few steps behind. No matter how she ran to keep pace the people she wanted to hold onto most just kept slipping out from between her fingers. She missed them, for she had lost each in their own way.

A couple of tears fell from her face to leave dark splotches on the book in her lap. It occurred to her that now she too had left her mark, had similar intimate contact with this sacred object of his. And not just this! The feathers in the velvet lined box tucked away in her own room, a gift from him, a gift from his father, she had partaken in their feeling, immersed herself in that unknowable part of him that hid behind the print on the cover. With a barest flick of her wrist a slightly yellowed page came into view.

_One: My Early Life_

Her pulse quickened. Yes, he had treaded here. His eyes had surveyed these very same words. Their paths intersected and in their meeting gave definition to both, for though his had ended hers still stretched into the unknown. With countless tracks sharing only a final destination losing sight of the other runners was inevitable. It wasn't a problem of keeping up or getting ahead, this was no race after all. She couldn't let running after someone else give meaning to the marathon. All that mattered was that she ran. The prospect was at once intriguing and frightening. Liberating.

_The progressive development of man is vitally dependent on invention…_

She would never forgive him for leaving her like this. But Alexa would take Roland's final words to heart and run a solitary path to a destination of her design. For now she would mourn, but soon she would cloister his words within herself and move would be proud, she would hold her head high among storm clouds and bend lightning over her knee. She would leave a scorch mark all her own on the face of the earth.

* * *

Hedgeton still smoldered from DEADE's passing. Acrid smoke hung low over the shattered skyline, shrouding the twisted cityscape. Occasionally a cold wind would roll in from the Pacific and upset the gaseous screen, revealing scenes of hazmat clad figures clambering through rubble strewn streets to the ocean birds overhead. Seagulls drawn by the scent of carrion mirrored the orbits of the unmanned aircraft whose electronic eyes swept the ruins in spectrums invisible to human eyes. The eddying smoke and heat left a surreal, lucid imprint on the thermal imagers, but all but a few of their operators were too engrossed in their duties to appreciate the morbid beauty of the scene. They were watching for trouble, casting a blanket of security over the body counters as they went about their own bloody work. The air was spattered with circling slivers of white, guardian angels touching wingtips with corpse eaters. But the Pacific stretched out to the west, the mountains and forests faded into the east, the sky swallowed the land and sea both, and Hedgeton seemed little more than a smoky smudge lost against an infinite of blue and green. This charred patch of ground was little more than a fistful of pixels when viewed from high orbit.

But a city did not burn without assaulting all of the senses. The taste of soot on your tongue, a layer of sweat and ash pressing against your skin, heartbeat thundering in your ears as sirens wailed their battle cries at the flames. And the smell! DEADE's remains were yet to be relocated so the immense viscera had been left to bake in the sun ever since Prometheus had ripped the arcane titan open during their final clash. Gusts from the sea cast the stench inland, making residents downwind anxious as the scent of distant rot encroached on their homes. The fence erected around the ruined city was for repelling frenzied scavengers as much as it was for keeping out nosy reporters who snapped pictures from beyond the cordon.

At the crest of a hill to the west, slumped against a tall evergreen, was Raena. Her voluminous and bloodstained robe was splayed about her, her beaked hat pulled down over her eyes. To a passerby she might've seemed asleep. Or dead. But she wasn't dead, not yet. Her chest rose and fell imperceptibly; the tear in her diaphragm made breathing almost unbearable. The only reason she could breathe at all was because the pressure differential between her chest and abdominal cavities had plugged the hole with some of her lacerated organs. A painful temporary fix. Victor had all but bisected her, so death by blood loss was inevitable anyway. She'd lost feeling in her extremities some time ago, many minutes perhaps; her perception of time had been warped once she'd gone into shock. Well, that wasn't quite true. Everything below her waist had been devoid of sensation since she'd reassembled herself from her scattered raven avatars. Ideally she would've found a suitable body to possess but the military had been thorough when they'd evacuated the city. The only people left were the soldiers, and it would be too difficult to take any of them without rousing suspicion. All she could do was find a secluded spot to regroup and consider her remaining options.

She didn't have the means to mend her wounds. She couldn't call for help. She couldn't even move. Here, slumped underneath a tree on a hill overlooking Hedgeton's scorched ruins, assaulted by the stench of her failure, she would die.

It burned her to think that she had come so close. Even contaminated with Medusa's Black Blood and handicapped with an incomplete bond to the Eye of Vengeance DEADE had displayed such power! Under the unyielding boot of inescapable death it had struggled, almost human in its drive to exist against all odds. This place, this travesty of concrete, this mass of humanity, had become a monument to DEADE's genesis. A thousand years from now this place would live on in whispers. Because a god had been born here, in this great scar. Here it had breathed its first and last.

If only Victor hadn't betrayed them, DEADE would've been perfect. Unstained by fear, guided by mechanical precision, an engine unrivaled by any man or machine that had come before it. The Black Blood had undone them, blunted the construct's logic with fear. Why didn't it just vaporize the golem as soon as it recognized the threat? She knew it could've, she'd seen it wipe four war ships off the face of the Pacific without a moment's hesitation. It could glass miles of waterfront at the slightest provocation. But as soon as it met an enemy its own size the strategy of crushing retaliation was forgotten. A machine undone by the simple irrationality of fear, it should've been impossible. All it had taken was a syringe of liquid Madness, an application of pressure in just the right place, to doom DEADE to failure.

For what? To thwart her plan and preserve Shibusen? To turn DEADE down the path of a Kishin? To what end had Victor betrayed her? With the construct already on the verge of godhood, why did it need any more power? The Knight's words echoed within the confines of her skull.

_It will become more than a god. Nothing will be able to stand against it, not Death, not Asura. Not even the Trinity._

With darkness creeping at the edges of her vision the dying witch let out a troubled murmur. Had Victor been on Death's side all along, did he intend to use the construct as some sort of Shibusen super-weapon for killing deities? She had to admit that DEADE would've been ideal for combatting the Kishin Asura, even the combined might of the Trinity might falter before the Doom Engine. But Death and his eight warlords had destroyed the Trinity during the Second War with the Forest. Could it be that Victor sought to instigate a Third War with the Forest before the Trinity could recover from their reincarnation?

No matter which way she looked at it, no matter how mysterious Victor's motives remained, DEADE's failure was a dark omen. With Arachne dead and her organization shattered, Medusa rogue and trying to create a Kishin out of her abominable child, her people were more vulnerable than ever, and her own unsuccessful effort to destroy Shibusen would only draw unwanted attention to their endangered and scorned race. Her sisters would brand her a traitor and heretic like the two elder Gorgon sisters.

At least this way, she reasoned, her soul wouldn't be used to create a Death Scythe. But it was a shameful, meaningless end. She had nothing to show for this slow gruesome death, this failure. Even the blasted ruins of Hedgeton would be rebuilt. DEADE's remains would persevere for some time, sequestered in some nameless vault, hidden. Raena's bid to save her people would be little more than another tragic footnote in a nation's history. In the end all that sacrifice had been for nothing. No matter how infuriating it was, no matter how her soul rattled the cage her body had become; she couldn't give meaning to the carnage. It burned her. She was dying.

Two figures loomed over her, casting shadows on the broken frame of the Raven Witch. In her half-conscious musings she hadn't noticed their approach. Raena glared up at the pair, filling her gaze with empty threats, trying to drive them off with a look. She wanted to enjoy some solitude before death took her.

The first stood tall, far too tall to be a man, draped in course, filth caked cloths that hid their features from view. With it came the stench of a dozen pestilent things, at this distance overpowering even the smell of DEADE's distant viscera. But it was what accompanied the creature that raised hairs on the back of her neck in apprehension. A child with a shock of stark white hair, a boy no older than ten, clutched at the robes of his tall guardian. He examined her with curious silver eyes, the likes of which Raena had never before seen. Those chromatic orbs seemed to pierce her very breast with their intensity, as if he examined not her broken exterior but her spirit, her soul, the very content of her character. It was unnerving. As Raena bled and darkness swallowed her the tall one spoke, words raspy, rattling like the wind through dry branches.

"Is this the end?"

**A/N: **I feel kind of silly posting this after so long, considering at the end of the last chapter I specifically said it wasn't gonna take four or five months to write this one, and it sort of ended up taking that long anyway. I don't really have much excuse, other then college starting and this chapter being the longest I've written by far. Hopefully I still have some readers left . Any way, this is the last chapter of Shades of Gray, and I'd really like to know what you guys thought not only of this chapter, but of the story as a whole. And please, don't hold back any constructive criticism you may have. I'm really gonna appreciate any feedback you folks have for me, cause it's just gonna help make the next arc that much better.

A thousand humble thanks to everyone whose reviewed since the last update, especially Aldous Dragon, whose critiques have already proved helpful. Now, I might post a stinger in a week or two, but don't expect the second arc to be up for some time. This is mainly because this time around I'm gonna actually write several of the chapters before I start releasing them so I can have a more consistent release schedule, as opposed to writing one and releasing it and then starting on writing the next one (an amateur mistake on my part. I gun doofed).

Thanks again to all my readers!

TheManInTheHat


	16. Epilogue- From Dust

Epilogue- From Dust

* * *

The Ivory Tower Hotel was, for the first time in decades, bustling with activity. A motley collection of trailers, tents, and squat, prefabricated offices were arrayed around the walled courtyard in loose formation, heads clad in yellow hard hats weaving between the blocky structures at a fever pace. A team of surveyors had set up shop in the plaza, taking measurements from a tripod mounted theodolite while a group of engineers disappeared through the tower's battered entryway. Bent over a plastic table was a lonesome architect, squinting between the blueprints spread over the tabletop and the decrepit building before him. Its cracked and faded edifices seemed to glow with newfound vigor, as if the lonesome structure sought to impress its guests. The architect eyeballed the courtyard's dusty fountain and tsked under his breath, scratching himself a note on the blueprints with a pencil stub.

Out on the horizon, over the rolling dunes, glinting like a sliver of glass, was a helicopter. The beating of its rotors was faint at this distance, but their volume increased as the aircraft's silhouette grew against the sky. Unperturbed by the approaching chopper the architect continued about his work, hand moving in smooth and deliberate patterns as he sought to transcribe his vision onto paper.

_A dozen assault rifle armed hazmat suits picked their way across the rubble mound that had once been an apartment building with practiced delicacy. There were only a handful of buildings still standing inside the quarantine zone, and many of the ruins had yet to settle. If the city wasn't already treacherous enough, Prometheus and DEADE's bout had destabilized the entire region, upsetting faults that hadn't been active in decades. There had been more than a dozen small earthquakes in the days that followed the attack, bedeviling the military's cleanup efforts to no end. So the soldiers took great care in traversing the clutter, wary of any loose stones or stray tremors._

_One stumbled, darting a hand out and catching itself on an exposed piece of rebar. Another paused, shouldered its carbine, and stooped to help. The two struggled for a moment before regaining their footing, the first giving muffled thanks that the second waved off. They clambered up to the rest of their squad, huffing from the exertion and cursing the loose debris, who waited for them at the top of the rubble mound. When they reached their comrades there was a moment of respite as the leader of the group consulted a map and attempted to reorient their band. The one who stumbled sheepishly shrugged its rifle from its shoulder and examined the weapon for damage from the fall. Satisfied that it could trust the weapon in a moment of need, the hazmat suit raised its shielded face and pondered the geography of the street. Another soldier stood in the center of the thoroughfare, dressed in a formidable looking Kevlar combat suit and full face respirator, unarmed save for a sheath that sat at the small of his back that the hazmat suit could only assume held an enormous knife. The hazmat suit watched the man with a curious air as he examined something at his booted feet._

Rotors beating with the fervor of a hummingbird's wings the helicopter dropped, sending tent cloths flapping and dust devils fleeing in all directions, workers raising their arms to shield their eyes from airborne sand grains and staggering to a safer distance. Sighing at the interruption the architect left his table and approached, ducking behind one of the portables while the chopper finished its dusty descent. It alighted cautiously, seeming to test the half-buried asphalt of the road that led to the hotel gates, the hydraulics of its landing gear hissing unheard as the aircraft settled into its temporary resting place.

It was a sleek, powerful looking machine, all smooth contours painted a subdued shade of gray. Emblazoned on each of its doors were the letters F and E in bold red type, the corporate logo of Foundry Enterprises. As its rotors slowed and the shroud of upset sand began to fall some of the workers emerged from their hiding places to scrutinize the new arrival. From a safe distance of course. The architect abandoned the shelter of the portable and stepped forward, planting his feet and crossing his arms to restrain his tried patience. He'd been expecting this visit a full day ago, and though the reasons for the delay were reasonable ones it still irked him that he and his crews had had to endure another twenty-four hours in this sweltering sandbox while the sun laughed at their suffering. One of the doors slid open, allowing a woman to step out onto the sand.

_The clumsy hazmat suit jumped when the masked man in the street suddenly turned towards the squad of resting soldiers. For a moment unsure of itself, the suit raised a covered arm and waved. The man waved back without hesitation. Another soldier squatted next to the first, voice muffled by its protective headpiece._

"_What's that guy doing alone out here?"_

_The first shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe he's Special Ops?_

"_No way, he'd still have a couple other guys with him. My guess is CIA." The second said, helmet twisting back and forth in dissent._

"_Hey, isn't that where one of those Shibusen kids got killed?"_

"_Yup." The second grunted. "Their only casualty. They say all that's left is a smear on the pavement, no body or anything." The first remained silent as its companion rambled on. "It's fucked up, sending kids out to die like that. Maybe after this little cluster fuck somebody will get a mind to do something about it. It's fucking wrong man."_

_There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of their squad. The man in the street had dropped to his haunches and placing a gloved hand against the cracked thoroughfare, turning his masked face away from the group of resting soldiers to eye the opposite side of the street. A gruff shout from their Staff Sergeant brought the soldiers back to their feet, slinging their rifles over their shoulders and following the NCO over the crest of the rubble heap and out of sight, leaving the lonesome man to ponder the rust colored stain against the pavement in silent solitude._

She walked with purpose, black leather shoes rising and falling like the paws of a great cat. Her lithe form was framed by a deep blue pin stripe suit, inky black hair cut close to the dark chocolate skin of her scalp. Analytical gray eyes wept over the desert camp with unnerving, predatory intensity, as if she were evaluating the strengths and weaknesses of the landscape itself. The architect swallowed hard when she came to a stop before him and settled those powerful gray orbs on his own blue ones. They shared a tense moment of mutual appraisal before she spoke.

"Robert Gunderson I assume." The architect blinked at her sudden, curt vocalization. There was the slightest hint of a British accent in her voice. He cleared his throat and held out a hand.

"Yes, I'm the architect in charge of the surveying team." She shook his outstretched hand firmly. "You must be Rebecca Barker."

"Ms. Barker, Mr. Gunderson." She corrected, eyes leaving his to survey their surroundings once more. "You've had no problems?"

Gunderson shook his head. "None at all Ms. Barker. We're all alone out here."

Rebecca nodded, satisfied. The architect's camp seemed quiet enough. A little haphazardly arranged for her taste, there weren't any unobstructed lines of sight in the whole compound, but they wouldn't be staying long so the risk was minimal. She would tolerate this oversight, and increase her own vigilance to compensate for the shortcomings of her employer's associates. Turning on her heel she faced the helicopter and gave a sharp nod. Gunderson straightened himself as the door slid open once more.

_A muffled grunt punctuated the silence as the masked man ran a gloved hand over the blood stained pavement. Marcus had scored deep gashes in the street with his final attack, and the man quietly observed how they wound across the black top and terminated shortly after crossing the bloody site of Roland's demise. With a pensive sound he pivoted on his haunches to face the caved in storefront beyond the sidewalk. It was a sorry sight, all twisted steel and broken glass. A clothing store if the scattered pieces of fabric amongst the rubble were any indicator. The debris shifted noisily under his booted feet as he scaled the rubble, reaching its peak in a few nimble motions. There he lingered. Caught on a charred wooden beam, twisting in the breeze, was a singed scrap of green fabric. With utmost delicacy he freed it from its resting place, holding it loosely in his palm. It was hard to determine what the material was in its current state, perhaps part of a coat, maybe a scarf. As he pondered the cloth a crow alighted on the wooden beam, squawking indignantly at the masked man. _

_Trapping the green scrap of cloth between his gloved fingers he started down the backside of the ruined shop. At his departure the crow threw itself into the air, darting past the man's head with another squawk before lifting itself above the blasted rooftops with a few quick beats of its ebony wings. Wheeling over the shattered landscape, a beady eye trained on the masked man, it followed his trail as he transversed burnt out alleyways and hollow buildings, hidden face downcast as he clutched his olive colored treasure to his chest and followed an invisible trail through the ruins._

Dedrick Smit stepped from the air conditioned womb of his corporate helicopter into the sweltering desert sun like a snake shedding its skin. He moved with practiced ease, his footsteps full of confidence, an easy smile brightening his handsome face as he crossed towards Gunderson and Barker. His hand found its way into Robert's own and the two shook.

"Mr. Gunderson." Smit spoke with a soft, whimsical air, friendly, as if his voice had its own pair of open arms with which to embrace those who observed its sound. "We meet at last."

Gunderson couldn't help but smile back at him. Dedrick was a young man, somewhere in his mid-twenties by Gunderson's estimation, with the poise and slim frame of a crane. His eyes were a lively shade of green, his neat hair a rich golden brown reminiscent of brass. Light tan slacks hung from his waist and a blue dress shirt with its cuffs and collar unbuttoned revealed the pale skin of his chest and clavicle. Somehow this charming and easy going character seemed incongruous with who Gunderson thought the CEO of Foundry Enterprises would be.

"It's a real pleasure sir." Robert, his grin widening in an almost childish way that made him feel rather foolish, replied. "A real pleasure Mr. Smit."

The young CEO gave a little hum of amusement and flashed the architect a winning smile. "Please, call me Dedrick. No need for formalities so far from civilization. May I call you Robert?"

Somewhat startled by Dedrick's informality the architect muttered an affirmative and, regaining his composure, waved towards the hotel behind him. "Would you like to have a look?"

At Smit's nod Gunderson turned and started back towards his camp with the CEO in tow. Barker followed at a respectable distance, allowing the two men some semblance of privacy as the architect brought his employer up to speed on the progress of the past two weeks. Dedrick absorbed the mundane details of the survey's results with more interest than someone unversed in engineering and architecture had any right to, a gesture for which Gunderson was grateful. It was good to know that his boss appreciated the time he and his team had invested in this project, toiling in the sun, picking through the innards of that dusty tower, shaping the face of its rebirth. Or at least that he cared enough to pretend to care. Robert supposed that counted for something too.

Barker, however, unnerved him. She slipped in and out of his periphery like a ghost, little more than glimpses of blue pin stripe against the sandy tones of tent canvas. The rational part of his brain reasoned that he had nothing to fear from her. He couldn't count himself among Dedrick's enemies; he had trouble believing that the affable executive had any to begin with. But that hard eyed woman hadn't flown out to the derelict hotel with Dedrick just to make Gunderson's men uncomfortable as she stalked through their campsite, and Mr. Smit was far too humble to keep a personal bodyguard as a status symbol.

"These plans are fascinating." Smit muttered, jarring Gunderson from the ominous undertones of his musings. The CEO was pouring over Robert's blueprints with the expression of one pondering a portrait, trying to draw insight from the crease of a smile, or the incredulous arch of an eyebrow. It made the architect's chest swell with pride to see someone from outside his profession regard his work as art. "Fascinating." Smit repeated, and Barker was forgotten as Gunderson joined him at the table to outline his vision for the new Ivory Tower Hotel.

It would be a bold undertaking. Renovating the existing premises was simple enough, expanding the hotel to meet Smit's specifications, however, was a far more daunting task. Fortunately Foundry Enterprises was diversified enough to provide most of the necessary materials at prices greatly reduced. But the sheer size of the project worked to counteract those savings. Robert gave his estimate of the price tag with a twinge of melancholy, seeing his dream crumble under the cruel weight of reality. His boss was quiet, mulling over the hefty bill that had just been presented to him, Gunderson's heart sinking as the silence stretched on. Then Dedrick smiled and clapped the architect on the shoulder.

"Perfect." Smit pulled himself upright, hands on his hips as he craned his neck to peer at the uppermost levels of the hotel. "These plans take into account our staffing considerations, correct?"

"It'll be as solid as a rock." Robert nodded quickly. "Blast doors, window bars, all concealed mind you. If anything goes wrong this place will shut up so tight a fly couldn't get in or out without the security key."

Smit's smile grew. "Very good Robert, very good." He gave the architect's shoulder a squeeze. "You'll turn the pharaohs green with envy."

"Thank you sir."

"What did I tell you about calling me sir?" Smit chided. Robert laughed sheepishly.

"My apologies Dedrick." The two shook hands a final time. "Have a safe flight back to Cairo."

Rebecca was waiting for him by the helicopter. She rebuffed his warm smile with a cool stare, prompting Smit to pause a few feet from the waiting aircraft. His smile shrank to a faint grin.

"You don't think it will work."

"It will work. If you really want this resort built in a year, it will be done in ten months." Barker said simply.

"I know you're more astute then that Ms. Barker." Dedrick pressed. "You know what I'm talking about, and you don't think it will work."

"Mr. Smit, it is not my business telling you if it will or won't work. My business is to make sure you don't die either way." She replied curtly. "This philanthropic venture of yours is going to upset people, Shibusen and most of the world's governments to name a few. You want to change the way the world thinks. That is a dangerous ambition."

Dedrick hummed pensively. The world was changing; Shibusen was losing face and international support after a series of disastrous failures, and people were feeling increasingly vulnerable to the supernatural forces Shibusen was in place to guard them from. They needed leadership, they needed someone to fill the void opening in Shibusen's wake. They needed Dedrick. Whether or not the transition was a smooth or painful one was largely up to Lord Death.

"Well worth the danger." Was his stern response. Rebecca followed close behind as he stepped up into the helicopter. "We're going to build a brave new world. And it all starts here."

_There was a halfwarg in the alley. It was a trembling, mangy thing, cowering in the shadow of a dumpster behind a blasted diner. By some stroke of luck it had survived the battle, finding refuge among the crumbling buildings near the city's edge as the titans turned downtown Hedgeton into a field of rubble. Alone, frightened, and hungry, it crept through the ruins in search of something to fill the pit in its stomach. In its manic, emaciated state the corpses of its slain brethren would've sufficed. But its mouth had been fused shut by the Mongoose Witch's cruel magic, and the bounty of carcasses could do nothing to sate its hunger. So it hid._

_The masked man regarded it from some distance, cloaked in the shade cast by some crumbling edifice. His right hand moved to the knife sheathed at the small of his back, hovering there for a moment, then clenching into a fist. He moved, crept forward like silence given shape. The distance between them shrunk over the course of whole minutes. Each step was placed with practiced precision, like the stroke of a calligrapher's pen, keeping the masked man's approach quiet despite the loose debris littering the alley floor. A textbook silent kill, an undetected approach concluded with a swift twist of the neck._

_At least it would've been. As the man drew within several feet of the halfwarg a helicopter passed low overhead, a thundering UH-60 with its nose pointed towards downtown, and when the emaciated creature spun to find the source of the noise their eyes met. It flinched and recoiled, seeing its own likeness reflected in the circular lenses of the man's gas mask as he exploded into motion. The creature lashed out and loosed a muffled yowl when he broke its arm with a quick twist and tackled it into the dumpster. Milky eyes wide with terror as the man wrestled for a choke hold the halfwarg planted a foot against his armored midsection and sent him tumbling away with a powerful kick. He landed in a crouch, barely winded by the blow. _

_At the sight of its opponent returning to his feet the halfwarg felt something stir within it, an upwelling of disgust and shame. Had it endured the witch's mutilations, survived the massacre of its kin, and suffered the desecration of its identity for this honorless, anonymous end? A single defiant thought straightened its spine, pulling the creature to its full height so that it towered over the man who challenged it. With a rumbling growl it raised its remaining hand to its face and gouged into its cheek with a misshapen claw. Blood ran down its neck in rivers of crimson, the sound of flesh splitting making the masked man's fists tighten with apprehension. The halfwarg filled its head with images from its youth to dull the pain, the memories of a lost home and dead friends nursing the spark of fury that drove its claw through the scarred flesh of its cheeks. When its bloody work was done its maw gaped wide, tattered and bloody lips revealing the razor edges of teeth long hidden. Though its language escaped it the howl that screamed forth from its unbound jaws was thick with pride and anger and defiance. _

_The masked man inclined his head slightly as it lunged, perhaps out of respect, before twisting around an incoming claw and breaking the halfwarg's neck. It dropped lifeless at his feet, and he seemed to ponder the mangled creature before turning to go. He could not allow himself to linger when he was so close to his goal._

_There wasn't anything to distinguish this particular pile of rubble from any of the others that had become ubiquitous in post-DEADE Hedgeton. A collapsed store maybe, perhaps a residence, all splintered wood, bent steel and shattered glass. A heavy oak door lay against the ruins, its carved face scorched black and its knob crumpled like a brass raisin. The man took hold of it with both hands and heaved it aside with a grunt. A crow landed nearby and peered into the cavity the man had revealed, squawking as he sat nearby and disturbed its perch. Resting his elbows on his knees he played the scrap of green cloth between his gloved fingers and looked skyward. The sun was setting over the ocean, nodding off and slipping behind clouds colored fiery pink by its waning light. An albatross orbited overhead, descending in tight circles towards the crow whose squawks had changed from indignant to urgent, and the man who swept the horizon with a sigh distorted by his gas mask._

"_You don't always get a sky like that in the city.__"_

* * *

**A/N:** Mystery! Foreshadowing!

A couple of weeks I said...

Midterms, slam poetry, pursuing lady folk, college. The normal excuses I guess. As AD pointed out, one of the biggest things I'm gonna work on in the next arc is writing discipline so I can actually release these in a timely manner. A million thanks to my readers and reviewers!


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